


Drifting Between Grey and Blue

by sponsormusings



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Asshole!Peeta, F/M, Fandom4LLS, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-04
Updated: 2015-11-23
Packaged: 2018-01-14 12:06:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 122,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1265914
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sponsormusings/pseuds/sponsormusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"They'd passed each other in the rain, a chance encounter on a lonely beach. And Katniss wondered how anyone could have a look in their eye as tortured as Peeta Mellark's and still be alive."</i>
</p><p>When their wounded pasts lead them to restart their lives in a small town, both Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark discover that sometimes healing comes from the last place you'd expect it to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

She studied the moonlight as it filtered through the bedroom window, listened to the faint rustling of leaves in the night air. She could hear his breathing even out, taking on the deep, settled sounds that she knew meant he was asleep. And she knew once he was asleep, he was gone, out like a light until the sun began to peek over the mountains.

It was going to be her one saving grace tonight.

She slid out of bed, tugging the duffle bag from under it that she'd placed there earlier in the day. Her heart pounded, and she swore even in his sleep, he would be able to hear it. But he didn't shift, didn't stir.

Slipping on the old hunting jacket she'd had for longer than she cared to remember, she picked up the case. It contained everything she owned, nothing more, nothing less. Even then it looked pitiful in size. Her life contained in one forest green bag.

  
Moving to the door, she turned and looked at him one last time. They'd both known it was coming, both known it had been on the horizon for months. She knew it was best this way; neither of them had ever been very good at confrontation. At least not with each other, not about them.

Placing the small envelope on the dresser by the door she moved out into the hall, taking one last glance around the place she'd called 'home' for the last year. And with a firm but resolute nod of her head, walked out of the house and out of his life.

********

Katniss Everdeen sighed, drying her hands on the worn dishcloth in her hands before dropping it to the counter. It was a tired sigh, but not a despondent one.

For once in her life, she was happy.

Lifting her gaze to look out the large dormer window at the end of the counter, watching the slow but steady lapping of the small waves against the rocky shore, she felt right. Calm. Home. She couldn't remember the last place she'd considered a real home. Certainly not Panem, and the house she'd lived in for a little over a year. She'd tried, she really had. So had he. But it had never felt that way, not a home, not even when she'd bought throws and cushions to make the lounge cozier, or decorated the kitchen windowsill with pots of herbs.

No, it had just felt like she was decorating his home, one she was occupying. She'd always had a feeling it would only be temporary. After all, hadn't they agreed from the very beginning that they weren't looking for anything serious?

The bungalow she'd lived in as a child had obviously felt like home, one full of light and love and her mom's laugh. Until her dad had died of a heart attack on the bank of the lake they used to fish on, taking with it her childhood and the blissful years of teenage irresponsibility. Then she'd lost her mother and sister to a car accident; by 19 she was an orphan; no family, no friends, no ties.

She'd left for Panem the next month, selling off everything she owned except her clothes, a few of her father’s books, and the old civic that had belonged to her mom. She'd lived in a drab one bedroom above a bar that served drinks til 2, and called whores for you no questions asked, then in a share house with 3 other girls who had driven her mad with their incessant whining, multiple boyfriends and their penchant of 'borrowing' her jeans. And considering jeans had been the staple item in her wardrobe, it pissed her off enough that when she'd fallen into a relationship by accident, she'd moved into his place faster than he could ask.

Looking back, 10 months after she had left in the middle of the night, she knew she'd made the right decision. And although he'd been hurt, and the first few phone calls following had been full of words they both later regretted, she knew he agreed. Of anyone, Gale Hawthorne knew what it was like to be a lone wolf. Without a direction, she'd hit the road that night - still with the Civic, down one pair of jeans she couldn't locate but swore Glimmer Roberts had pilfered - and waited to stop until it felt right.  
1000 miles away, and in a small coastal town in Maine, she'd found it. At first she was surprised, expecting home to feel like woods and peat moss and leaves that were twenty different shades of green. Instead, Quarter Mile Bay, with its rocky shores, thin stretch of beach and sea that drifted between grey and blue, had caused her to pull over, breathe in deep...and knew that was where she needed to start over.

At 26, it was time for Katniss Everdeen to have a life.

She heard the heavy thud of footsteps, and turned slowly, leaning against the counter and waiting for Haymitch Abernathy to mosey through the door. She'd never known Haymitch to rush anywhere in the time she'd known him, not to go to the small corner store run by Sae, not even when he came to get his favoured custard filled donuts she had begun to habitually put aside for him, once Annie had finished making them. The old retired judge was as cranky as he was opinionated, and rarely shut up unless he had a donut or a bottle of whiskey in his hand, depending on the time of day.

She'd recently come to realise it didn't really matter what the time was, the flask was always in his back pocket regardless.  
He stepped over the threshold of the door, missing the footboard they all knew squeaked with a little bit of weight, and watched as he pushed a knotted strand of hair from in front of his eyes. They were a little bloodshot, the grey that looked remarkably like hers dull but stormy. Haymitch was pissed off this morning.

She couldn't be happier to see him.

Without a word, she handed him the donut. He glared at her, then at the donut, before nipping it from her fingers and taking a huge bite. He wordlessly ploughed through it, then wiped his fingers on the edge of the old-fashioned vest he habitually sported.

"And what has you so chipper this morning?" Katniss asked.

"Those fucking kids next door were playing in their damned yard from 6am, pretending to be Iron Man and the frigging Hulk of all bloody things," he grumbled, planting himself on the smooth brown leather stool in front of the counter. "I know it's summer vacation, but geez, I used summer vacation to sleep til 12 and piss away the afternoon."

"Haymitch, the Mitchell boys are 8 and 10," she reminded him wryly. "They really can't piss away any time of day."

He snorted. "They can at least do me the decency of sleeping til a normal hour until they're old enough to. Now I'm here, instead of in a blissful stupor." He eyed off a cream filled éclair, and before he could open his mouth, she'd pulled it from the case and placed it on a plate, sliding it in front of him. For the first time in her life, she understood somebody, somebody who almost felt like a kindred spirit. She shouldn't have been surprised it was him.

He grunted his thanks - she didn't expect anything more or less - and bit into the sweet, the cream bursting from the pastry and covering his upper lip. She smirked to herself, then turned to mark it on his tab. He never paid at the time, but once a month, without fail, Haymitch closed out his tab, swore he'd never eat another donut again, and would then appear on the doorstep a day later with a smirk and a demand for another.

"Ok, so spill it. What's new around here?" Katniss asked. It was the same routine. She asked him this, and he would vomit out all the gossip he had been subjected to by his neighbour, Effie Trinket. No matter how many times he told her he didn't care, she nattered over the fence to him regardless. And in a way of brain dumping everything, Katniss allowed him to tell her - even though she could have cared less. But small towns meant repeat customers, and knowing your customers meant good business.

At least that's what Annie had firmly told her when she'd started working here.

"Bristel Saunders is pregnant again," he started with a roll of his eyes. "And Delly Cartwright is apparently bringing a new man home with her at the end of the month. Dalton is having an affair, with who the fuck knows. I zoned out when all Trinket blathered on about was babies and boning."

Katniss choked on her yawn at Haymitch's words. "Shit, Haymitch, don't say stuff like that," she wheezed.

He shrugged awkwardly. "Not my fault that's all she talked about." They fell into silence, one they were comfortable with, and unsurprisingly, preferred.

Katniss picked up the dishcloth, idly wiping at the counter. "What about the guy in the old Snow house?" She finally asked.

Haymitch studied her through narrowed eyes. "What are you asking about him for?"

"Because you offered to return to him the parcel that accidentally got delivered here, which in itself is out of character for you. Plus the guy hardly ever sets foot out of his house. I've been here for 10 months and I've never spoken to him. Surely you did when you went there."

Haymitch scowled. "So what if I did? Sweetheart, you've been here less than a year. People who have been here for the entire 5 years he has have never spoken to him. Hell, I could count on my hand the number of people who have. There's no point in asking about him; I've got nothing to tell you."

Katniss scowled, and threw the dishcloth back onto the counter. She knew there was no point in asking, but she had to anyway. She wasn't even sure why - the man who lived in the old Snow mansion 10 minutes’ drive down the coastline was a non-entity, a man who was becoming more and more of a local myth than a reality.

But the medium sized package from a law firm in New York had intrigued her. And for someone who rarely gave two shits about the private lives of others, her interest had been piqued.

Haymitch groaned and pushed himself away from the counter, rising to his feet. "Now after that scintillating conversation, I'm going home. I probably won't come in tomorrow. Trying to give up. Waistline isn't getting any smaller you know." He slapped his hand against the paunch that tugged a little more at the dull buttons of his vest every day, and Katniss nodded in agreement. A smile crept across her face as he walked out, and down the uneven pathway outside.

She'd see him tomorrow.

********

"Everything locked up?" Annie stepped through the kitchen door onto the shop floor, her hand gently rubbing against the soft cotton of the pale blue shirt that stretched over her bulging belly. Katniss couldn't help the twinge of nervousness that filtered through her every time she looked at the willowy brunette. She was terrified the woman would go into labour any moment and Katniss would have to deliver a baby.

It was not something on her bucket list of things to do in life.

"Yep, all done. Just the front door now, after we leave. Finnick coming back to pick you up?"

Annie nodded, and shouldered the bag she held in her hand. "There's no way in hell I'm walking anywhere except between the bedroom, kitchen and bathroom tonight," Annie replied wryly.

Katniss pursed her lips. "Should you still be working? I mean, you know I'm ok handling things here, and Finn can look after the kitchen....."

"I know, Kat. You guys are going to be all over this while I'm out on leave, especially with the new part timer we've hired. Rue's a good kid, and I'm happy she can work the out of school hours. And if we need to bring someone else on, we will. But please," her eyes danced merrily, "Don't confine me to home yet. Let me hang out here for awhile longer."

Katniss laughed, palming the keys she'd dropped on the counter and picking up her small purse from the shelf under the register. "Fine. But you should hang out more than work, okay? You know I don't want you shooting that baby out while I'm around."

Annie chuckled softly, then shifted her gaze as she saw Finnick's old blue Chevy pull up at the curb. "Ok, ok. I'll see you tomorrow." She laid a hand gently on the younger womans arm as a way of goodbye, before stepping outside. Katniss watched as Finnick leapt out of the cab of the truck, hurrying to help his waddling - there was really no other way of putting it - wife into the passenger seat. She caught the grin they exchanged, one meant for themselves and not necessarily for Katniss to see, and she felt a twinge in her belly.

Even with Gale, she'd never felt that, the obvious link between two people that meant they belonged together. She just assumed she wasn't built for that - after all, she'd sworn off love after her parents had died. Why join yourself with someone, and raise a family, only to die and leave that family behind and alone? No frills, no ties and no complications were far better than the alternative.

It didn't mean that occasionally, she didn't wish for someone to be there when she got home.

She locked the door behind her, and began the short five minute walk to the little cottage she'd fallen in love with within minutes of seeing it. The young couple who had rented it before her had moved into the main part of town; a larger house required with unexpected twins in tow. Their surprise was her fortune, and the little 2 bedroom across from the beach, with it's vine covered trellises, a working fireplace and bathroom with piping older than she was, had become home. Home. Finally.  
Katniss went through her evening motions - a simple cheese sandwich, toasted, and some cold iced tea she'd steeped that morning for dinner, a load of washing, paying the electricity bill that was a day late - and finally sat down on her back porch, the sounds from the beach, and the occasional honk of a car horn from a street away keeping her company.

Her mind drifted back to the conversation she'd had earlier with Haymitch, one she still didn't completely understand her curiosity about, and remembered the first time she'd seen him....

_The clouds had been pregnant with rain, almost black with fury, threatening to spill overhead. Her windbreaker had fluttered behind her and she'd briefly considered shrugging it off and leaving it where it fell. But as the first heavy drops had begun to fall, landing on her head, her arm, any place it could as her feet pounded against the packed sand, she'd decided against it, and kept running._

_She ran to feel her heart pound, for her legs to ache, to empty her mind when it became too full._

_She'd run, the rain sliding down her cheeks like tears, feeling the burn in her calves, and listening to the crashing of the waves against the shore in anger._

_Running when the weather matched her mood was one of the few pleasures she allowed herself. It meant the beach would be empty - for no one was as crazy as the Everdeen girl to do so, she'd heard Sae quip - and she would have a reprieve from the relentless conversation she generally struggled to maintain in the bakery._

_So she'd been surprised as she'd turned around a small outcropping of rocks to see a figure clothed in black shorts and a white t-shirt that clung to his skin, running towards her with as much vengeance as she._

_The figure came closer, and she'd admired his form, the strength in his legs as they moved along the sand, shoulders broad and finely muscled under the second skin of cotton. And then she'd caught a glimpse of his face and knew._

_After 5 months, she'd just encountered the mysterious man who was still a subject of gossip and innuendo 5 years after he'd moved to Quarter Mile Bay._

_She'd faltered in her step as they'd locked eyes, his a brilliant blue that seemed guarded, angry and confused. His eyebrows had narrowed together as he unabashedly looked her over, before his lips firmed into a straight line, his gaze moving back to the sand below his feet._

_They'd passed each other in the rain, a chance encounter on a lonely beach. And Katniss wondered how anyone could have a look in their eye as tortured as Peeta Mellark's and still be alive._

********

He swiped a hand across the board, scattering pencils and the remains of an eraser to the ground. His fist pounded against the thick, white paper covered in lines, a multitude of perspectives and inches.

It still wasn't right. And at this stage, it never would be.

He pushed back angrily, sending the small black stool on wheels flying across the room, where it thudded against a plain white wall. He'd long since learnt not to put anything against it, and now all the wall carried was the scars from his stool. Of those, there were many.

Stalking to the kitchen, he yanked open the door to the refrigerator, plucking a Stella from the shelf and popping the top, sucking half of it down in one gulp.

It was hot in here, but that was his own fault. He'd forgotten to turn the AC on, had gotten lost in the design until he couldn't see straight.

Which could explain why everything he'd just drawn looked like shit.

He leant his forehead against the cool stainless steel and sighed. He knew what was distracting him. That box.

It remained on the dining table, unopened. He'd almost keeled over when Haymitch Abernathy had dropped it off the week before, smelling of stale whiskey, with compassion in his eyes and an explanation of where it had been delivered. For once, he had been unable to talk to the one man in town he could give any time of day to. He'd simply closed the door, dumped the box and had crawled onto the couch, letting sleep overtake him.

He'd expected nightmares, expected the same images to haunt him as they always did. Instead, he'd woken up sweating, heart racing, guts twisted in anticipation and confused as to why he had been dreaming about the girl who worked at the bakery. He'd only ever seen her about 4 times since she'd moved here, fleeting images that really shouldn't have stayed with him. But for some reason, following Haymitch's visit, she was the one stuck in his mind.

Guilt, all-encompassing and overpowering, had swallowed him until he'd purged himself of everything he'd eaten that day. But the box remained unopened.

He had no desire to open it. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever. Pandora's box needed to stay closed.

His eye caught the flashing red light of his answering machine on the counter as his head tipped back to take another sip, and with a sigh pressed the little black button.

 _Beep._ "Hey, it's Aaran. Mom is pissed you haven't returned her calls. Guess who gets to be messenger. Just call her back one time to shut her the hell up, would you?"

_Delete._

_Beep._ "Kiddo, it's your dad. Been awhile. Give me a call."

Even at 32, his dad still called him kiddo. His finger hesitated on the button, but..... _Delete._

 _Beep._ "Uh, hello, this is Fulvia Cardew from the offices of Heavensbee, Paylor and Boggs. It's come to our attention that a package for you was delivered to an incorrect address. As it does include some items of quite a high importance to you, we would appreciate if you could confirm-" He pressed the button frantically, cutting it off mid-sentence. Shit. Even his answering machine was doing nothing but reminding him.

Peeta Mellark didn't want to be reminded of anything. He wished he could forget.

He knocked back the rest of the beer in one gulp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - This was originally written for Fandom4LLS in 2013. I'll be continuing this as a WiP, alternately with my other fic, Portrait of a Victor.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading, I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at sponsormusings :)


	2. Chapter 2

**_5 years earlier…_ **

_“I’ll take it.”_

_“What?”_

_“I said I’ll take it.” Peeta couldn’t help the frustration that seemed to emanate from him every time he opened his mouth, but the young woman was too bright, too happy, too enthusiastic for him to do otherwise. Plus she seemed like she was always already onto the next sentence in her sales pitch by the time she’d finished blurting out the last, and he was forever needing to rein her back in._

_Her mouth dropped open, a perfectly pink pout. “But you haven’t seen all of it yet!” she exclaimed. The real estate agent was as green as grass; probably given the task to sell it because no one else gave a shit about the neglected mansion and they’d simply expected to continue to sit on it for years._

_But it was exactly what Peeta was looking for, and hadn’t known it until he’d found it._

_“Don’t care.” He reached into the satchel he had hooked cross-body, pulled out a pen. “What have I got to do?”_

_Eyes wide with surprise - he could practically hear “holy shit, I’m selling this dump!” running through her head - she fumbled in her briefcase for the paperwork she’d need to get the ball rolling and handed them to him. He dumped the sheaf on the dusty kitchen counter in front of them, and began to read._

_An hour later, she’d left and he was alone. He could still turn on the old Mellark charm when he wanted to, and she’d continued to be flustered enough by the imminent sale she’d made that she’d babbled in agreement when he’d asked if he could stay behind a little longer._

_He walked through, his footsteps heavy on the wooden floors, a squeak here and there under his weight. He knew enough to know the place was structurally sound, and that whatever needed fixing was easily done by himself, or his brother. But it wasn’t that so much that excited him, that made his pulse run just that little bit faster than it had in months. It was putting his stamp on the place, turning it into exactly what he wanted, while keeping the bones of it. And the facade - well, that wouldn’t change. That’s what had drawn him to it in the first place, its dramatic curves and edges and fanciful parapet atop the roof that had made him brake and pull over to the curb so hard he’d popped a tyre._

_His planned year drifting around the country had stopped abruptly that cold winter afternoon, as the wind had whipped at his hair and grey clouds hung low over his head. Everything about the picture in front of him suited him in every way imaginable. He’d dreamed of it that night, and the night after that, a welcome change to the nightmares that plagued him. He’d wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything._

_Moving out onto the deck, he rested his arms - still strong and toned beneath the thick jacket he wore - on the balustrade, studied the rocky shore below, the lighthouse rising from the cliffs just around the next bend. The artist in him itched to reach for the notepad in his bag, but he stopped himself. He’d taken far too little enjoyment out of things the last 6 months, and for once, he wasn’t going to deprive himself of something that came with no strings attached - especially when it was this view._

_So instead, he watched the waves, listened to the birds overhead and committed it to memory._

_********_

_Peeta felt the stares that got thrown his way, as they grew like an insistent itch between the shoulder blades. He’d expected it, figured it would happen the first time he showed his face in town. “That’s the guy who bought the Snow house 6 months ago” was the first murmur he heard; “he looks perfectly sane to me” the next. He scowled at that, his jaw firm and set; he’d known moving to a small town would result in this - the curious glances, the whispers, the questions, the inevitable gossip. But the isolation the house afforded him - the rocky shore and the pounding sea his only neighbour - more than made up for it._

_As long as they left him alone, that’s all that mattered.  He really didn’t give a shit anymore about what anyone thought of him._

_He’d learned that lesson a long time ago._

_Pushing through the door to the post office, he glanced around. Small, kind of quaint, a motherly looking woman with an oversized perm at the counter. Pretty much exactly what he’d expected._

_It wasn’t busy; one teenager popping gum while being served, followed by a middle aged man and then a young mom with a whimpering baby in her arms waiting. He raised his eyebrow at the man, whose slightly rounded stomach was evident under an old fashioned vest and white dress shirt._

_In the middle of freaking July._

_He reluctantly joined the end of the line, figuring he either had the option of getting this the hell over with, or waiting outside until the store was empty. But if it was anything like the post office back in his childhood town, the likelihood of it ever being completely empty was slim to none. So he waited._

_Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he focused on the small screen, on the emails that had come in since he’d left the house - one from his dad, one from a mailing list he’d signed up for a long time ago and kept forgetting to unsubscribe to, and a third from his office. He opened that first, glanced over the short note from his boss, Malachi Cinna, about his new working arrangement. He was pleased that at least that was sorted and out of the way, and that he wouldn’t have to worry about any further ‘planning’ phone calls with Cinna’s annoyingly bubbly secretary._

_It didn’t take as long as he’d expected, and he soon found himself face to face with the woman at the counter. She smiled widely, her lips painted the same plum shade his mother had worn for years. “Hi there, how can I help you?” she asked, folding her hands expectantly on the counter._

_“I need to set up a PO box,” he said bluntly, “And have my mail redirected to it from my old address.”_

_“Can do!” The woman said chirpily, turning to her computer screen and tapping at the keyboard rapidly with long nails dipped the same colour as her lips. “You must be new in town! What’s your name, sweetie?”_

_“Peeta Mellark.” He saw her fingers still as they hovered over the keyboard, her mouth opening in a surprised ‘O’ as she did a double take at him._

_“O-okay Mr Mellark. I’m going to need some more details from you.” She rattled off a series of questions which he answered with short, straightforward answers, ignoring the glances she shot towards him out of the corner of her eye._

_It took 15 minutes, but he was finally registered and back on the map. His sabbatical was officially over._

_With a dismissive nod, he shoved his ID in his wallet and then into his back pocket, making his way to the front door. The bell above it jangled happily as he stepped outside into the heavy air. He imagined a storm was on its way, and that didn’t bother him one bit. He always found it easier to work with the rain steadily drumming on the roof above him._

 

_“I know you.” The voice was low, gravelly, from either a pack a day habit or years of whiskey. And when Peeta glanced over and saw the man who’d been inside the post office leaning against the wall, the second was the more likely of the two._

_“I don’t think so,” Peeta muttered, brushing by and continuing down the sidewalk._

_“New York City.” The man grunted. “Heavensbee, Paylor and Boggs.”_

_Peeta felt his heart stop, and he pivoted on his heel, turning back and standing directly in front of the man. His blood felt like it was on fire. “You like poking into other people’s business, old man?” he hissed, pointing a finger towards his chest._

_“You like being a rude asshole?” The man retorted. He pushed at the dark, silver flecked locks that hung over his forehead and smirked. “Because I got no qualms going toe to toe with you, boy.”_

_“What do you want?”_

_“Nothing. Just noticed you been holed up in that house there for 6 months and nobody’s seen hide of you.”_

_“So? Maybe I prefer it that way.” Peeta rocked back on his heels, folded his arms across his chest._

_“Maybe you do,” the man acquiesced. With a tip of his head, he pushed off the wall and began to walk away. Peeta’s mouth dropped open. The guy tells him he knows who he is, then simply walks away?_

_“Who the hell are you?” Peeta called to his retreating back. The older man turned, curled his lip._

_“Haymitch Abernathy. Ex-Judge from the glorious state of New York at your service. If you ever want a drink, boy, find me. I’m always happy to have one.” He turned again, didn’t look back, as he strolled down the sidewalk._

_As Peeta watched him go, he wondered whether having someone know about his life, his past, in the place where he'd planned to hide, was a good thing or not._

********

“Katniss! Can you check the oven for me? I uh…” Annie’s voice trailed off, and Katniss pushed the door open to see Annie, palm pressed to the small of her back, leaning halfway towards the oven door.

“Annie, what the hell are you doing?” Katniss sighed, slipping through into the kitchen and gently moving her friend to the side. She grabbed the oven mitts, yanked open the oven door and smiled happily at the row of golden pastries that appeared in front of her. “They look perfect. You want me to get them out?” Annie nodded, leaning against the stainless steel counter. Pulling the tray out, Katniss laid it gently on the bench, stripped off the gloves and tossed them beside it. “Leave them alone to cool. I’ll be back out here in 2 minutes, and then we can discuss how you need to go home.”

Heading back through to the front store just in time for the bell to chime and a customer to walk in, Katniss plastered a smile on her face, even though her mind was miles away. The last week had been rough on Annie, and it was starting to show. She’d even had a false alarm two days earlier, and while Katniss had threatened to lock her inside her house, Annie had continued to insist that she come to work.

After today, the time to argue had passed. Katniss was putting her damned foot down.

“Hey Ms Trinket, what can I get you?”

The woman smiled at her, teeth bright white and straight, her platinum blonde hair twisted up on her head elegantly, a summery purple dress clinging to her slim figure. Effie Trinket didn’t belong in Quarter Mile Bay; from the moment Katniss had met her, she’d imagined her more suited for somewhere like New York, or London, with her penchant for Louis Vuitton, name-dropping and gossip. Instead, the high profile talent agent lived here, worked remotely, and traveled extensively. It still really didn’t make any sense to Katniss what drew the woman here, but it wasn’t up to her to question it. Or to think about it anymore than she needed to.

“Oh, Katniss, darling, I’m having a few friends up from Washington this weekend, and would _love_ to serve that butterscotch and whiskey concoction Annie whipped up for my birthday.”

“You want to pre-order it?” Katniss confirmed, pulling the order book from under the counter and palming a pen from the jar beside the register.

“Yes, I wanted to pick it up Saturday, if possible.”

Katniss hummed, began to write the order out. “Remember we close at 2 on Saturdays,” she murmured absently.

“Of course, dear. I can pick it up around 10 if that suits.”

“Sure.” Katniss’ gaze flickered over as she saw Annie walk - _waddle_ \- out from the kitchen, and slide carefully onto the stool they’d placed behind the counter explicitly for that purpose.

“Oh, my, Annie, _look at you!_ You’re so big! About ready to pop, I’d say!” Effie trilled.

“Possibly,” Annie said with a tired smile. She glanced over at what Katniss was writing down. “Ahh, but I’ll be certain to get that made for you before Baby Odair arrives.”

She grinned, big and wide and enthusiastic. “Sounds perfect. Just add it to my account, will you, darling? Now I must be going again. I’ll see you on Saturday, ladies!” Effie finger waved as she walked out the door, both Annie and Katniss watching her go with amusement as she tottered out in heels about 3 inches taller than they needed to be.

“I will never understand that woman,” Katniss sighed.

“I don’t think you’re meant to,” Annie grinned, reaching into the cookie jar and pulling out a buttery yellow macadamia and choc chip. She bit into it enthusiastically, crumbs falling down her shirt and resting on the swell of her stomach.

“And I don’t think you’re meant to be here,” Katniss said bluntly. Annie's brow furrowed. “I mean it.  You’ve been tired as hell this week, and Finnick taking time out hasn’t helped.”

“He’s been finishing the nursery,” Annie argued. “And you know he can’t be here to open _and_ close.”

“And you shouldn’t be here doing either. I mean it. When does Rue start properly? Monday?” Katniss turned and picked up a damp sponge, wiping up a trail of crumbs on the counter, while Annie nodded. “Ok. From Tuesday next week, you’re done.”

“But-”

“No buts, Annie. I know this is your bakery, but damn, you need to rest. Rue’s finished her training, and she’s only manning the front counter, not actually _making_ anything. As it is, I can’t be out here, spending all my time worrying if you’re giving birth back there in the kitchen, ok?”

Annie screwed up her nose, then sighed. “Fine. But - _woah_.”

Katniss’ eyes widened. “Woah, what? Are you having a contraction?! Shit!” She raised her voice, the terror obvious as it shook. _Dammit! She knew this would happen!_

“No,” Annie laughed, slapping Katniss lightly on the arm. “But look out the window. I go for so long without seeing him, I forget how hot he is.”

Katniss turned, looked out the glass front of the bakery to see what - or who - Annie was spying on. She was surprised at who was lingering on the sidewalk, phone pressed to his ear as he gesticulated wildly and paced back and forth.

 _Peeta Mellark_.

“He’s alright, I guess,” Katniss shrugged, tossing the sponge back into the small counter sink and wiping her palms on her jeans. She couldn’t explain the clamminess that she suddenly felt on them.

“Alright? Geez Katniss, Peeta Mellark is fit and gorgeous and mysterious to boot." Katniss' mouth dropped open - this was completely unlike her normally reserved, mind-only-ever-on-Finnick friend. Annie laughed again. "Oh Katniss, you should see your face. I might be married and pregnant but I’m not blind or dumb. I mean, if I didn't feel like a beached whale and if it wasn’t for Finnick-”

“If it wasn’t for Finnick what?” They both turned to see the bronze-haired man Annie had married immediately out of college leaning against the doorway to the kitchen, arms folded across his chest, a smirk on his face.

“I’d jump Peeta Mellark’s bones.”

Finnick chuckled and pushed away from the door frame, tucking his fingers around Annie’s chin. His sea-green eyes sparkled mischievously.  “You wouldn’t get within 5 feet of him. It’s like he has a shield around him that shoots out electrical currents if you get too close. And if you did happen to get that close…well, I’d hunt him down, Finnick style.”

“Finnick style?” Katniss snorted. “Puh-lease.”

“You’ve never seen the pictures from Finnick’s performances in his high school plays, have you,” Annie said, yanking Finnick’s hand away from her chin and curling their fingers together. She grinned devilishly. “He played Eric in our production of The Little Mermaid, but proceeded to chase me around the school hall with a prop trident he'd stolen from the set after the show.”

“Worked, didn’t it?” He smirked.

“Eventually,” she replied. “Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“It’s lunchtime, babe,” Finnick said, glancing at his watch. “Figured I'd take you down to the beach for a bit, have some food.” He looked over at Katniss. “That ok with you?”

She nodded. “Get her out of here. I’ll be fine. The ovens are off, and I should be right as a one-woman operation until 2. Go.” She poked Finnick in his bicep - rolling her eyes when he automatically flexed it under her touch - and pulled Annie’s purse from out of the counter.

An agonisingly long 5 minutes later - with Annie waddling, Finnick whinging he should have brought a camp chair for her, she telling him to shut the hell up - it was blissfully quiet. Thursdays in the bakery generally were. She wasn’t sure why, but after all this time, she’d learned the ebbs and flows of the town, learned who would be by when, and had gotten pretty good at figuring out what people wanted. Which, considering she still never really knew what _she_ wanted, in anything, was pretty damn surprising.

She quietly began reorganising the left display, shifting cakes and cupcakes and sweet apple turnovers until the gaps were filled and the stock looked full again. She’d learned, through patiently listening to Annie, how much perception mattered when it came to selling.

The doorbell jangled abruptly, and Katniss straightened to find the object of Annie’s ruminations framed in the doorway, the sun at his back. It gave the impression of a silhouette, of a Greek god with a halo of hair.

“You got a phone I can borrow?” he said abruptly, as he stepped inside.

_A Greek god with no damn manners, apparently._

“I might do if you were a little more damn polite,” she snapped back, and he blinked in surprise.

“Is that how you speak to all of your customers?”

“Only the rude ones.” She folded her arms across her chest, surprised at how defensive she was. The first time he'd ever stepped foot in the bakery when she'd been here, the first conversation she'd ever had with him, and he was rude and she was prickly.

She watched him take a deep breath, a broad chest expanding under a thin pale blue cotton t-shirt. He ran a hand through his haphazard waves. “Ok, I’m sorry. My phone battery just died and I need to finish a call. Do you have a phone I could borrow please?”

This time it was Katniss’ turn to blink. She hadn’t actually _expected_ him to say please, hadn’t really expected him to back down. All she’d heard about him was how abrupt and short he was; quick to answer, even quicker to leave.

“Um...sure,” she muttered. She moved to the end of the counter, where they kept a small cordless phone, then handed it over to him. He took it with a nod of thanks, then moved over to one of the small ice-cream parlour tables that were tucked in front of the large bay window.

And although she tried to keep herself busy, her curiosity won out.

“Look, I already told you I’d have the proposal to you tomorrow,” he hissed, keeping his back to her. She could see his reflection in the window pane, could see the firm, hard line of his lips pressed together while he listened to whatever the other person said. “Well, it’s not my fault they kept changing the specs, Cinna. You’ll have access to my electronic files this afternoon, and I’ll Fed Ex the originals down to you just like normal.” He sighed, rubbed at the bridge of his nose, and when he spoke again his voice had softened, had a gentle tone to it that she didn't expect. “Okay. I’m happy to catch up, you know that. I'd like to see you and Portia and the kids. Just...here, please. You know I hate going back to the city.” She saw his eyes flick up and lock on her in the glass; face burning and flustered, she turned to the bread rack behind her and blindly pulled a thick loaf of bread off the top shelf, kicking herself for being caught out listening.

Looking down, she realised the bread she'd grabbed was her personal favourite - heavy and dense and full of nuts and fruit; slathered with butter, it was like a meal in itself. She’d often thought that, when struggling those first few years in Panem, if she’d had access to this bread, she wouldn’t have spent so many nights hungry, simply trying to make ends meet and cutting corners when she had to. With a faint smile creeping across her face, she decided she couldn't think of a better meal for tonight.

“Ahem.” Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him at the counter, the phone held out to her. “I did collect call, so you won’t get charged.”

“Thanks,” Katniss muttered, twisting around and reaching for it. She placed it on the bench, looked back at him expectantly. “Is there anything else?”

Peeta studied her quietly for a moment, his eyes searching her face. “I’ll take that bread you’ve got there.”

“Oh.” _Dammit, there went supper._ “Alright, I’ll just bag it for you. Do you want it sliced?”

“Thick,” he said quickly, and she nodded as she adjusted the buttons on the slicer. The loaf slid through swiftly, and she shoved it into a brown paper bag, before turning around and handing it to him.

"$2.50," Katniss told him, and he reached into his back pocket, pulled out a wallet that had seen better days, and counted the bills he needed. He dropped them onto her outstretched palm, and if his fingers brushing up against hers was intentional, he didn’t give a hint. But she was surprised at the way her palm jerked, the way her eyes immediately flew up to his.

His remained impassive, the startling blue blank and unmoved. Then he walked out of the bakery without a second glance.

 _What an asshole_.

********

Peeta slammed his front door closed, heart hammering in his chest. He stalked through the front room, banging his knee on the wide-cream coloured sofa, and cursing as he limped into the kitchen. He tossed the bread bag on the counter as though it was on fire, yanked the fridge door open and stared blankly at the meagre contents.

Part of the reason he’d gone into town was because it was empty. Then he’d walked into the bakery and a pair of silver eyes seared into him. And he’d promptly forgotten the main part of his trip.

 _Dammit_.

He was so used to being removed, closed off from everything, that the melancholy he’d seen lurking quietly behind those eyes had been like a punch to the gut. He'd been surprised at the lust that had curled through him immediately after; he hadn’t experienced that in...well, at least over 5 years. He just hoped he’d not given whatever he was feeling away. The last thing he needed was some brunette with piercing eyes and an ass that looked great in jeans poking around him.

He snagged the milk from the fridge, slamming the door closed and chugging the full cream straight from the carton. He’d just have to go back into town later, get whatever the hell it was he’d wanted. He had milk, he had bread. He’d get by.

Peeta moved through to his work room, wide expansive glass windows giving him a full view of the sea. He glanced over the completed papers in front of him, certain Cinna would be happy with what he’d done, ergo the client would be too. It matched their - fourth and final - specs; a building with slim lines, a domed roof, and a layout that suited exactly what they wanted.

Slumping down on his work stool, and dropping the now empty carton on the desk, Peeta reached for a discarded piece of paper with one hand, a pencil with the other. And began to draw out the pictures that were crowding in his head.

They ended up being of a long black braid curving over a shoulder, of a pair of eyes that held secrets and sorrow. And he swore to himself he would never step foot in that damn bakery again.

********

With a yawn, Katniss slid down further in her bed, a Nat Geo documentary on the tv, her laptop cradled on her lap. The day had been long, the afternoon unexpectedly busy with a rush of boisterous teenagers, and while she wanted to do nothing but fall asleep, she knew there was one thing she had to do before nodding off for the night. She'd put it off too long already.

Clicking on the desktop icon, she opened a new email document.

_Hi,_

_Sorry, it's been awhile. Things have been busy, though I know it isn't an excuse._

_Work is good. I still can't believe I'm working in a job that requires interaction with people and I have to be happy about it - but surprisingly, I am. Happy about it, I mean. I don't know if it's for me in the long run, but for right now? It's perfect._

_Annie is pretty much ready to pop. I don't know who's more terrified - me, worrying about her going into labour at the bakery, or Finnick, at the thought of being a dad. I guess as a blood relative to the baby, he wins, right?_

_I saw that guy again today, the one I saw on the beach that time. I've never spoken to him before, never been that close to him other than on the beach._

_He was pretty damn abrupt, even more than I can be sometimes (I'm working on it, okay?!). People around here say he's crazy, but I don't think so.  A lot of those old biddies are full of shit - and when did I ever listen to what others say anyway?_

_But...even I have to admit he has nice eyes. I guess I can't expect him to be good looking AND nice, right?_

Katniss wrote a little more, chewing on her bottom lip as she went. The rest of the email was standard, boring, at least in her eyes. In the end, at a loss for anything more to say, she signed off with a simple _Miss you, K_ and clicked on send.

Putting the laptop on the ground beside the bed, and switching off the TV, she closed her eyes, prepared to sleep.

She vaguely wondered, as she drifted off, if anyone ever read the emails she sent out into nothingness. She knew Prim certainly never did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Thank you for reading, for your comments and kudos. The response to the first chapter blew me away; I appreciate it so much.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under sponsormusings, where I reblog about THG, jhutch and my obsession with pretty pictures of Europe :)


	3. Chapter 3

Katniss raised her hand slightly, waited until Darius nodded his head before dropping it back to the counter. She knew the beer would be in front of her within 2 minutes, along with a quick grin and a wink.

Darius Watson had been trying, unsuccessfully, for the last 9 months to get her on a date. And despite his friendly smile and copious amount of jokes, there just wasn’t enough _there_ for her to even consider it. She wasn’t ready for anything like that yet - wasn’t sure if she ever would be, especially after the way things had ended with Gale - and had carefully deflected Darius’ innocent advances every time.  She begrudgingly had to admire his dedication though.

Friday nights she often found herself at The Hob as a way to unwind and relax. She rarely stayed for longer than two drinks, and since Annie and Finnick had started spending most of their Friday nights at home, she was often on her own, nursing a beer at the bar and mindlessly watching whatever sport was on the screen. And after another busy day in the bakery helping Annie make Effie’s order, her body had been begging for the drink since about 2pm.

“Hey Katniss,” Darius greeted, dropping a napkin on the counter and placing a mug of amber ale with a frothy head on top of it. “How’s the week been?”

“Busy,” she replied, lifting the glass to her lips and swallowing deeply. “You?”

“Same,” he grinned. “Out of towners coming in keep us busy.”

“Course they do. Delly Cartwright back yet?” _Damn she hated small talk, but times like this she felt obliged._

“Nah, she’s still a few weeks away. Heard she’s bringing a new guy with her to visit.”

“Yeah, I heard that too.” She reached a hand into her pocket, dropped some crumpled ones on the counter.

Darius chuckled, palmed the money. “Nothing is ever secret in this town, right?”

“Rarely,” she agreed, raising the glass again. He smiled widely before moving down the bar to serve another customer, and she thought about the ways in which he was surprisingly wrong. Small towns hid secrets all the time, it was just that no one knew about them - after all, if they knew, it wouldn’t be a secret. She kept plenty of her own past locked inside, hadn’t shared the full extent of the loss of her family with more than a handful of people, those she'd become closest to in town. And she knew the same went for the man who lived high up on the hill. His secrets were so locked inside, she wasn’t sure if _anyone_ would ever know them.

Shaking her head of her thoughts, she turned her attention back to the TV, noting the baseball game and the fact that Finnick’s team was down by three. She chuckled to herself, knowing that if it continued this way, she’d have something to tease him about the next day.  And after another 15 minutes of watching, she figured there would definitely be some good-natured sledging happening in the bakery.

Downing the last of her beer, she tipped her head at Darius, then slid off the stool, heading for the door. The sun had set before she’d even arrived, but it didn’t matter. Finding her way home from The Hob in the dark was something she’d done plenty of times.

Scuffing her feet against the concrete path and shoving her hands in the pockets of her jeans, she headed down the slope of Main Street, where its gentle incline headed towards the beach. It wouldn’t be long, she knew, before the street and the wooden-front buildings with their shiny glass windows would begin to be decorated in shades of black and orange. The weeks to Halloween would fly by, especially with Annie’s impending delivery, and she’d experience her first one in the Quarter. Halloween had always been Prim’s favourite holiday of the year, had always gone all out with the decorations of their house.

She’d missed that, missed the sheer youthful enthusiasm that Prim had exuded, the way she’d even gotten Katniss in the spirit of things. She remembered the last Halloween they’d spent together, when Prim had somehow managed to convince her to dress up, and they’d roamed the streets of their hometown in bright orange cat costumes.

And then three months later, the car accident had shattered her life and she hadn’t celebrated a Halloween - or any holiday - since.

Taking a deep breath, she refused to let her thoughts go there tonight, and instead focused on the sight of the water as it came into focus, on the darkened interior of the bakery as she passed it, careful not to trip over the slightly cracked footpath. Focused on the hot bubble bath she’d looked forward to all day, and the book Annie had lent her to read.

Turning along the street that led to her cottage, she waved to Sae and her granddaughter, who sat giggling together on the front porch of their house, before letting herself into her own place next door. She went through the motions of filling the bath with water as hot as her body could stand it, lowering the light with the dimmer she’d had installed, and sliding down into the deep bubbles that smelt faintly of camomile.

It had been something Sae had recommended to her when, not long after her arrival, she knew she’d woken both her neighbour and herself with the loud sobs that had wracked her body after a nightmare. She’d been both surprised and distraught - she hadn’t experienced one in so long, let alone with the strength of the one that had torn her from sleep. The following morning Sae had mentioned in passing that the soothing scents had helped her, years ago, after her husband had passed and the memories hurt too much, and had casually left a jar of the homemade bubble bath concoction of camomile and lady’s slipper on Katniss’s front porch one afternoon.  It had unexpectedly worked; she’d slept through the next night dreamlessly and peacefully. She’d continued to use it when she’d needed to, or when she’d been thinking about Prim or her parents a lot, but now rather than use it as a preventative, Katniss now used it as a reward to herself. Every Friday night, she relaxed in the calming bubble bath, as somewhat of a ritual to close out the week and welcome the weekend.

Resting her head against the rim of the tub, she breathed in deep, allowed her mind to empty. And with an urge to escape reality, she picked up Annie’s book, and began to read.

********

_“Uncle Peeta!” The little ball of energy barrelled into him, arms wrapping tightly around his knees. He laughed, reaching down and picking the young girl up, her warm brown eyes full of excitement. He settled her on his hip, studied the pink and white smears across her cheek._

_“Hey there, Rue. Whatcha been doing?”_

_“Daddy let me lick the bowl after cupcakes!” she squealed, looping one of the longish waves behind his ear through her fingers and tugging lightly._

_“Oh did he now?” Peeta grinned, looking over her shoulder towards where Cinna was walking down the hall, wiping his hands on a small dish-towel._

_“I did. But don’t breathe a word to Portia, she’ll have my head,” he smiled, reaching around Peeta to close the front door. He rested a hand on Peeta’s shoulder, even while 4 year old Rue continued to babble in the abbreviated language she’d created._

_“Thanks for coming, Peeta, I appreciate it.”_

_“Anytime. I get to hang out with my best girl, so it’s not a worry.” He grinned, pressed his finger to the tip of Rue’s nose to make her giggle, and followed Cinna back out into the huge, roomy kitchen at the back of the brownstone._

_It was one of Peeta’s favourite places - warm and inviting, with a working fireplace and a wide wooden counter that overlooked the small, perfectly cultivated yard Portia - Cinna’s wife, full-time stylist and part-time flower enthusiast - maintained. He loved the straight lines, the practicality and the sudden burst of life and colour in the artwork that ran along the entirety of the east wall. He couldn’t help but be proud of the room, as he’d helped to design it not six months earlier. And had painstakingly created the eye-catching artwork himself._

_“Where is Portia?” Peeta asked, dropping onto one of the red leather high-top stools and placing Rue onto the bench in front of him, where she swung her legs and looked at Peeta in delight._

_“She’s just finishing up a session with a client. Awards season,” He said, and Peeta nodded knowingly. January to March was one of her busiest times, and Peeta knew that this year especially, with one of her clients being nominated for a number of awards, she was being worked ragged. Hence the meeting at Cinna’s home, rather than in the office, and the opportunity to keep an eye on Rue._

_“So what’s the deal? What did you want to talk to me about?”_

_Cinna plucked Rue off the counter, whispered in her ear; she responded with a grin and scampered out of the room. Peeta raised his eyebrow in question. “I told her if she let Daddy and Uncle Peeta talk work for a little bit, later Uncle Peeta would come upstairs and play tea party.”_

_Peeta rolled his eyes, but couldn’t help but smile. “As long as I get a couple of beers at dinner, sold.”_

_“Why wait for dinner?” Cinna opened the fridge, slid out two beers and expertly popped the tops, before sliding onto the seat beside him. “So I wanted to talk to you about a proposal for a hotel redevelopment in midtown, for action in two years time.”_

_“They’re calling for proposals already?” Peeta asked._

_Cinna nodded. “Tentative ones, yes. I’d say we’ll have a good chance of landing the contract - it’s a boutique chain and we’ve worked with them before. But I’m keen to hear some thoughts from you…”_

_Peeta sipped on his beer, listening as Cinna spoke, interrupting here and there with his own comments. Eventually, Portia arrived home, laden down with take-out bags and a tired smile, and they retreated to the small candlelit patio, where Rue played with her food more than ate, and Portia regaled them with the demands of one client and the sweet innocence of another._

_There were times he forgot Cinna was his boss, thought of him - and Portia and Rue - as more of his extended family. They’d certainly helped him with his transition to life in New York, as he’d begun to make his way and his name in the industry over the last 2 years._

_He watched as Cinna reached out, lovingly ran a hand over the gentle slope of Portia’s growing belly, as Rue coloured in a small book and sung to herself under her breath. And knew that he wanted something like this one day. He was close, so close. Maybe soon he and Cass could start talking about kids. Maybe they could start trying when they took that vacation over the Fourth._

_He smiled at the thought as he finished off his beer._

********

Peeta’s eyes opened, the haze of sleep slowly receding. He couldn’t remember the dream, exactly, only knew that it had been a memory, a good one, and for once hadn’t left him angry or anxious or sad as he woke. Instead his body felt loose and relaxed and full of energy.

He needed to run.

Sliding out of bed, he padded into his bathroom and washed his face, rubbing the grittiness from his eyes, before heading for his bureau and pulling on a soft green shirt and black jogging shorts. He moved down the stairs and into the large, glass-walled sunroom, his lips curving slightly at the sight of the sun coming over the horizon and the way its orange fingers danced over the water. He grabbed his sneakers from the shoe rack and opened the door out onto the deck, breathing in the brisk morning air as he lowered himself to the ground and slipped the shoes on.

He double-knotted the laces - a habit ingrained from childhood - and stood, stomping his feet against the first wooden step. At this time of year, he preferred the early morning run he took on the beach; it wasn’t too hot, wasn’t cold, and the breeze was just enough to tease the edge of his shirt and sneak up his back. He didn’t mind running in the heat or the rain - especially on the days when his dreams were dark and they lingered even after he’d dragged himself from sleep - but the morning sunrise in September had become his favourite time to run.

Peeta warmed up slightly, stretching his calf muscles, loosening his body so that he could hopefully avoid cramping or a stitch, before slowly jogging his way down the old steps that led from the top of the cliffs to the bottom. He liked the fact that it was almost like his own private access to the beach; that he could go straight from his back deck down to the winding path through the rocks and onto the sand without having to worry about encountering a single person.

He slipped on his earbuds - a little bit of old school Foo Fighters to get him on pace this morning - and he hit the sand. He took one half turn to look back up to the house, nodding to himself absently as he admired it, then picked up his stride.

Running through his current projects in his mind - next up was a new day spa facility that had been approved and was being developed in Boston, followed by a private request from Cinna, one he was still not fully briefed on - he let his body go into auto-pilot, trusting his feet to get him where he needed to go, his memory to lead him to the far end of the beach. He mulled over colours, thought about the layout of the lobby, considered the possibility of having to travel to Boston for consultations. It was one aspect Cinna had been non-negotiable over when he’d requested to work remotely - continuing to meet with clients at their offices or development locations - and Peeta had had no choice but to accept. And mostly, as long as the travel was to anywhere _but_ New York, he was fine.

As a result, he hadn’t worked on a New York based project since he’d left, and he preferred it that way.

Beads of sweat pearled on his forehead, and he picked up his pace, his arms swinging to help his momentum. He’d never run track in school - he’d stuck to wrestling, like his older brothers had, and had given soccer a try while he was a senior. But since his arrival in the Quarter, the beach had called to him.

Dodging around a rock that had obviously tumbled from the cliff above, he began to canvas the thin curve of beach that lined the base of the lighthouse. It was only ever accessible during low tide, and he was thankful that it was going out, to give him time to make it back before the water overtook it again. But he didn’t expect to run headlong into something, slamming him to the ground and causing him to land on his tailbone painfully. His earbuds fell to the soggy sand.

“Shit!” he hissed, wincing, the wind knocked out of him at the unexpected impact. He looked up to find the girl from the bakery - _dammit, she was the last person he wanted to see_ \-  sprawled on the sand, her hair hanging half over her face. She pushed it out of the way, a look of apology on her face as she stood, rubbing her forehead where a goose-egg was already beginning to form.

“Sorry about that,” she told him. “I was looking up at the lighthouse and….” She trailed off as she continued to look at him, catching his expression. Something about her set his teeth on edge, even while it made him take a second look at the way her shorts ended about a million inches above her knees. He knew it the minute the annoyance crept across his face - he could feel it in the set of his jaw, in the faint narrowing of his eyebrows. Her own eyes hardened in response.

Peeta pulled himself to his feet, hooking the earbud strands around his neck. He brushed the sand off his arms and bent over at the waist, pressing his hands against his knees as he struggled to intake air. His tailbone ached like a bitch, and the way her forehead had smashed into his jaw wasn't really helping either.

"You don’t have anywhere else to run?" He finally blurted out, glancing up at her. The pink flush already apparent on her cheeks from her run began to deepen and darken, her eyes flashing.

"Don't you?" She snapped back, folding her arms across her chest. "I have as much right to this beach as you do."

"But you've never run here at this time of day before - or up near the lighthouse," he argued, though he knew she was right, and he didn't have a claim to it any more than she did.

The woman shrugged. "I do now."

They continued to stare at each other until, with a sigh, Peeta dropped his gaze. He didn't have the energy - or desire - in him to fight with her. Straightening, he placed his hands on his hipbones. "Alright then." He nodded his head, then stepped past her, beginning to lift the earbuds up as he jogged away down the packed sand.

"Hey!"

He turned his head sharply at her voice to see her still watching him, hip cocked, arms folded across her chest. He continued to jog on the spot as he looked at her. "What?"

"Sorry about your box.”

He heart thudded painfully as his feet stopped moving. His shoes felt like lead had suddenly been poured into them. “What?”

“The box. Sorry it took a few days to get it to you. I know it accidentally got sent to us, and then Haymitch said he’d drop it off to you….He did, right?”

Peeta sneered, even though his mind was racing and sweat began to bead across his upper lip. “I got it.”

Her mouth dropped open at what he knew was his harsh tone. “For fucks sake, I’m just trying to be a friendly neighbour. I’m not asking for state secrets,” she snapped back.

“Is it even any of your business? Or do you think it is, because we live in a small town and everyone is supposed to know everything about everyone?”

“Are you kidding me?” She snorted out a laugh, incredulity obviously overriding her annoyance at him. “You really think that highly of yourself that you think I’d care all that much about _your_ business?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, I don’t know you. I don’t even know your name.”

“Exactly.” She glared at him, reaching up to tighten the ponytail that trailed down her back. “Maybe, before you immediately start acting like an asshole, you could just accept that sometimes people ask questions out of courtesy. Because if you even knew me, you’d sure as shit know that I don’t care one bit about town gossip.” She fell silent for a moment, scrutinising him. “All I did was apologise that you didn’t get your box straight away. I didn’t freaking ask what it was about.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. _What the hell was he doing? She was right. All she was doing was asking a simple question, and he’d gone from zero to a hundred without even listening to her._ But an apology felt bitter and awkward on his tongue - it had been a long time since he’d apologised to anyone.

With a sigh, she shook her head. “You know what, don’t worry about it. Forget I even said anything.” She spun on her heel, continued to head in the direction of his house. He watched her go, knew he was being an asshole when all he had to say was _thanks_.

“Wait!” Peeta called to her retreating back.

“What?” she yelled, not bothering to look back, her pace picking up.

“Thanks!”

“That’s all you needed to say,” she tossed over her shoulder, then disappeared around the corner of the beach.

He slumped back to the ground, certain that there was no more running for him today - his morning had gone from pleasant to totally screwed in less than twenty minutes.

It must have been some kind of record.

********

“And then, _and then_ , he starts accusing me of being a town gossip!” Katniss exclaimed, turning the chair upside down and resting it on the circular table. Finnick, mop and bucket in hand, laughed as he crossed the store-front of the bakery, flipping the _closed_ sign over before shutting and locking the door.

“Well, he’s right off the mark, isn’t he?” Finnick chuckled, squeezing the excess water out of the mop and beginning to clean the floor.

“I know,” she grumbled. “I could give a rats ass about him and his precious little parcel, but damn if he doesn’t rile me up every time he opens his mouth.”

“Count yourself lucky,” he told her, scooting around her as she lifted another chair up. “Seems like he’s spoken to you more in the last week than he has to half the people in town in total.”

“Whoop-de-doo.” Katniss rolled her eyes, sliding the final chair onto the tabletop and moving back around the counter to begin emptying the display case of any leftovers. Not that there were many - Saturday mornings tended to wipe them almost entirely of stock. She sighed, glanced out the storefront window as a bunch of kids barrelled past, beach towels slung over their shoulders. "I was just trying to be nice.”

“For once.”

“For on- hey!” Katniss glared over at Finnick, who laughed again.

“Oh, Kat, you’re so easy to play with," he teased, swiping the mop over the last few squares of tiles. "I know you’re not cool with small talk and whatever, and that it’s something you’ve really tried hard to come around to since moving here. And it’s worked - you’ve got a rapport with a lot of the customers, even Abernathy. Although that doesn’t surprise me, because you’re like two crotchety peas in a pod.”

“Is this meant to be a pep talk or a character assassination?” She snapped.

“This is me, telling you,” he pointed at her for emphasis, his green eyes sparkling in amusement, “That you care, Katniss, even though you pretend not to. You’ve weaseled your way into the ebb and flow of town. Even if that means taking a moment to apologise to Peeta Mellark about his delayed parcel.”

Katniss screwed up her nose, focused on pulling the final tray from the display. She knew he was right - she might not care for the gossip, but she at least cared for the people.

“Plus _I_ think _you_ think he’s cute, just like Annie does.”

“What?” Katniss’ head flew up, glared at him over the counter. He laughed again. “Oh my god, Finn, are you just going to spend all of close laughing at me?”

“If it warrants it, yes.” He pushed the mop back into the bucket, sliding it behind the counter, before popping the register open. “Each time you bring him up, the tips of your ears go pink. With your skin tone, it’s pretty obvious.”

“I do not!” she hissed. “And when do I ‘bring him up’?”

He dumped a wad of notes into a plastic ziplock bag. “You brought him up yesterday, when you told Annie about him using the phone on Thursday. And you’ve brought him up again just now.”

“Twice! Wow, how obvious of me!” She retorted. But part of her was terrified he was right. _Was_ she attracted to Peeta, someone she didn’t even know, someone who had treated her pretty shittily on both occasions they’d interacted? Hadn’t she woken Friday morning with the lingering sensation of the touch of his hand on hers, and the expressionless gaze he’d pinned her with the afternoon prior? Her fingers reached up, gently pressed against the bump on her forehead.

_Nope. That wasn’t it. She'd only asked him out of habit, one she'd had to pick up to work in the bakery. Ask questions, be friendly, even if she didn't feel like it.That was all. Not that she’d bother again._

“There’s no harm in finding him cute, you know,” Finnick told her, closing the register as he dropped the final few coins in the bag.

“Whatever, Finn,” she finally murmured, as she finished boxing up the leftovers, knowing Annie and Baby Odair would appreciate them. “I was just asking him to be nice.”

“Mmm-hmm,” he agreed, although she knew his tongue was placed firmly in his cheek as he said so.

She rolled her eyes, and continued to close.

********

The card stuck out of her mailbox, the brightly coloured corner obvious against the dull white of the paint. Pulling it out, Katniss glanced around, but didn’t see anyone on the street, nor on the stretch of beach right in front of her place, before studying the Quarter Mile Bay postcard with the sun setting behind the lighthouse. Flipping it over, she pursed her lips over the unfamiliar handwriting, and the lack of a postage stamp. And then couldn’t help the jolt of surprise at the signature.

_Katniss,_

_Sorry I was a jerk. A couple of years ingrained habit, I guess._

_Thanks for organising the delivery of my parcel._

_Peeta Mellark._

_P.S I’m not a stalker. I asked Abernathy for your name and address._

Tapping the unexpected card against her hand, she turned on her heel, and headed to Haymitch’s. The sneaky bastard had a few questions to answer.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, and your comments and kudos, they're very appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is for my dear friend covetingtheboy, who recently celebrated a birthday. Her enthusiasm for this story never fails to brighten my day.
> 
> There's also a reference in here for Jeeno2. I couldn't give you dragons, but I hope you like it anyway ;)

_Peeta rapped his knuckles on the front door, 5 short sharp notes he’d been doing since he was about 10 years old. He knew he was in there - after 5 minutes of knocking, he could faintly hear the thudding of feet against hardwood floors, the creaking of stairs and a faint curse - until finally Haymitch flung open the door, eyes bleary and hair tangled around his head. An old fashioned robe the colour of mahogany hung loosely from his shoulders._

_“Mellark?” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He peered out into the early morning light behind Peeta. “Do you know what damned time it is?”_

_Peeta shrugged. “I was awake. Wanted to talk to you.”_

_“Ah, shit,” Haymitch groaned. He turned on his heel, left the front door open. “Get your ass in here before I change my mind. You’re making the coffee.”_

_Peeta nodded and stepped inside, closing the door behind him and following Haymitch down the darkened hallway to the kitchen. It wasn’t clean - not that Peeta expected anything less - with a sink piled with dishes and a counter covered in paperwork, pizza boxes and empty glass bottles. He immediately moved to the fancy coffee maker - it was the one thing he knew Haymitch had splurged on in the last few years - and started the brewing process, while the older man slumped at the small dining table tucked into the corner and stared blindly into the small, overrun garden beyond._

_Neither spoke until Peeta was seated across from him, two steaming cups of coffee on the table. He didn’t drink coffee regularly - it was normally tea, no sugar for him - but considering he’d dragged Haymitch out of bed and the man was prickly at the best of times, let alone before 9am, he figured he’d probably need it._

_“Alright, what are you here for?” Haymitch demanded without preamble._

_Peeta tucked his hands around the mug, still not entirely sure why he had felt the need to come and see him. All he knew was that after the girl from the bakery had run off, he’d stared out at the water for well on an hour, watching the sand be eaten away by the rolling waves as the sun continued to climb in the sky. Seagulls had played in the froth at the water's edge, their squawks piercing and loud as they fought with each other. Eventually he’d brushed the sand from his shorts and headed up the shore to the road, jogging the three winding blocks around to Haymitch’s. The idea that Haymitch may have still been asleep hadn't even occurred to him._

_“I had a run-in on the beach this morning,” he started bluntly._

_“Yeah?” Haymitch didn’t even look at him, simply gazed into the steam rising from the pitch black coffee._

_“With the girl from the bakery.”_

_This time, Haymitch chuckled, raised his gaze, the amusement in his eyes obvious. “Well, I guess that would have been a pleasant conversation.”_

_“She chewed me out.”_

_“You probably deserved it, boy.”_

_Peeta shrugged, sipped at the bitter black liquid, letting it scald his throat. “She asked me about the box and I lost it at her.”_

_If he was surprised, it didn’t show on his face. “What did she ask?”_

_“Nothing. That’s it. She just apologised for it taking so long to be delivered to me.”_

_Haymitch hooted - there really was no other way to describe the sound that came out of his mouth. “Hell has officially frozen over. Never thought I’d see the day when Katniss Everdeen would apologise for something!”_

_Peeta glanced up at Haymitch, his eyebrows drawing together. “Katniss Everdeen?”_

_“That’s her name, boy, you didn’t know that?”_

_“No,” Peeta said bluntly. “Not a clue. You know her?”_

_Haymitch scrubbed a hand across his face. “She arrived almost 11 months ago. She’s kind of like you - keeps to herself, doesn’t share too much. Doesn’t like people a lot-”_

_“But she works in a bakery, and deals with customers?” Peeta interjected._

_Leaning back in his chair, Haymitch studied him. “Yeah, surprisingly. She’s a good kid, albeit with the charm of a dead slug. Puts up with my shit, gives me plenty back. Why are you so curious?”_

_“No reason,” Peeta mumbled._

_“There has to be.” Haymitch lifted the mug to his lips, swallowed deeply. “You’ve had plenty of run ins with me and never given a rats ass. What’s so different about her?”_

_He gazed out the window. “Nothing. She just caught me at a bad time.”_

_“I think you should apologise.”_

_Peeta swung his gaze back to Haymitch, whose gaze was steady on him. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He asked incredulously._

_“No. I think for some reason you feel guilty, and that’s why you’re here, being all pouty over a cup of coffee. Seriously, how long have you been moping around that house like you’ve got a big stick up your ass?”_

_“Not long enough, apparently,” Peeta shot back. He didn’t feel guilty. That wasn’t it at all._

_Was it?_

_Haymitch slurped at his mug noisily. “Look, I’m not telling you to become BEFs with her, or whatever the cool kids call it these days. But just drop her a note, say you’re sorry, whatever. Maybe the fact that you feel guilty shows you’re becoming human again.”_

_Peeta dropped his head in his hands. “Why do I even talk to you?” he growled._

_Haymitch chuckled, then leant forward again, dropping his now empty mug on the table. “I’m gonna say something, so in advance, don’t bite my head off. But I think the start of that door closing has helped.”_

_“What door?”_

_“You know what door I mean, don’t be so damned obtuse. You set the five years, kid. Five years has come and gone, and Heavensbee fulfilled his promise to you. Now you gotta do your part.”_

_It was times like these that Peeta regretted the 2 bottles of whiskey on a cold autumn night, 3 months after their run in outside the post office. He’d been feeling particularly melancholy - even more so than normal - and he’d remembered the old man’s offer of a drink if he ever wanted one. So he’d raided his liquor stash, did a search on Yellow Pages, and shown up on the man’s front doorstep, 2 bottles held out in greeting. He’d thought they’d drink in silence, but after half his bottle had disappeared, Peeta’s mind had muddled and his tongue had loosened. He’d figured it wouldn’t do any harm, figured if Haymitch had already known the sordid part of his past, the less-than-sordid part wouldn’t be an issue._

_Except for moments like now, when Haymitch reminded him of the agreement he’d made with Heavensbee, Paylor and Boggs. He wanted to go on not giving a shit, wanted to go on sitting up in his house alone, not worrying about anything or anyone. Not begin to ‘heal’ or some ridiculous crap like that. He was just fine, thank you very much._

_With a sigh, he stood. “I don’t even know why I’m taking advice from a 50-odd year old guy who drinks more than he eats, but I’ll say sorry, alright? And that’ll be the end of that.”_

_“If you say so.”_

_“I say so." He rubbed the back of his neck in frustration. "You got anything to write on, old man?”_

_Haymitch nodded, slid down in his seat so his feet were kicked out in front of him, his hands resting comfortably on his belly. He smirked. “I might do. You remember how to spell 'sorry'?”_

_“Shut up, Haymitch, and just give me something to write on.”_

********

He opened the door, a lazy grin crossing his face as he leant against the frame. “Well, well. I wasn’t expecting to see you today. Bring me a donut?”

Katniss glared at him, held the postcard up to his face. “What’s the meaning of this?” she demanded, flipping her braid over her shoulder.

Haymitch’s eyes twitched down to glance at the card. “That’s something you’re gonna have to ask him. Can I read it?” His fingers began to reach up before she snatched it away.

“No, you can’t - not that it’s anything exciting, anyway.” Her eyes shimmered with frustration as she pointed her finger at him. “But he _does_ say you gave him my name, and told him where I live. For crying out loud, he could be a damned serial killer, Haymitch.”

He laughed, deep and full and throaty. “One thing Mellark isn’t, is a serial killer. Geez, Katniss, you know what the hell I used to do. You think I’m _that_ bad a judge of character?”

“No,” Katniss grumbled, and folded her arms across her chest. She felt her annoyance dissipate. “I’m just...surprised, is all. He doesn’t seem like the apologising type.”

He absently scratched at the three days of growth that covered his chin, studied the confusion on her face. "He's not. So just take it and don't complain."

“But-”

“No buts. The guy never does anything he doesn’t want to do.  So don’t question it.”

Katniss chewed on the inside of her lip, still confused. _Why, if the guy didn’t hand out apologies easily, did he give one to her?_ _It didn’t make any sense._ It was pretty obvious, however, that Haymitch was going to remain closed-lipped.

She sighed. “Fine. Next time, though, don’t go handing my address out, alright?”

“Suit yourself,” he shrugged. “Just trying to be a friendly neighbour.”

“Well don’t,” she retorted, turning and stepping off his porch. “I’ll see you Monday in the bakery.”

“No you won’t!” he called to her retreating back.

“Yes I will! I’ll keep an éclair for you.”

Haymitch laughed. “Dammit, sweetheart, you’re the devil.”

She stopped at the small gate at the end of the path, hand resting on the faded white wood. “Nah, I just know your weaknesses, Abernathy. They’re easy.”

********

Sunday saw her stay at home, cleaning her cottage from top to bottom - she scrubbed the bathroom, mopped the floors, dusted her bookshelf, changed her sheets, even cleaned the damned refrigerator. At the end of the day Katniss sat on her deck with a beer as the sun set, watched a sailboat as it drifted past with a bunch of college aged kids on board with the music blaring, tried to read a chapter of Annie’s book.

And still she couldn’t shake the stupid postcard that was stuck to her fridge out of her mind. Because now, for reasons she couldn’t even explain, she felt like she had to let him know she accepted his apology, let him know that she’d happily never mention his stupid box again. But writing a letter wasn’t her style, and neither was telling that to his face.

It wasn’t until she’d sat herself down in front of the TV and was digging into her dinner - leftover stew and thick bread from the bakery - that it hit her. A nice gesture with some of Annie’s finest baked goods. _She couldn’t go wrong._

She munched happily on her dinner with her decision firmly set, and the unexpected weight off her shoulders. At least, for once, she didn’t feel like she owed anyone anything.

********

_“I don’t know what to do.” The words were soft, so quiet Katniss barely even heard them. But she did; much like she’d heard them every day since the incident at the lake._

_That’s what they called it. The ‘Incident’. No one had the courage to say anything more than that. No one had the courage to say ‘the day your father/husband/Mr Everdeen died.” No one said it, because 6 months later Alice Everdeen was still on the precipice, and was slowly about to tip over the edge._

_Katniss Everdeen was 15, and suddenly, she was the head of the house._

_“It’s ok, Mom,” she replied, staring out the window blindly as she paused in her washing of dishes. “I’m looking after it.”_

_And she was. She was getting Prim to school, getting the groceries with the food stamps, and trying to make sure the meagre payout they got from her father’s small life insurance policy lasted for as long as it could._

_Others had offered to help them, and on occasion she accepted their assistance; but as a rule she didn’t like handouts. The idea of owing someone, of feeling like she owed another person a debt, was something that didn’t sit well with her. James Everdeen had always taught her to be independent, self-sufficient and able to fend for herself. She was more like him than Prim was - who was the spitting image and temperament of their mother - and it went down to the bone. Katniss always, always paid her debts. Just like her father had, until he’d unexpectedly left them._

_No balance would ever be left unpaid, no matter how small or seemingly inconsequential._

********

The morning sun was warm and glinted off the glass, shooting rainbows of light against the whitewashed walls of the third floor hallway. Peeta stood at the wide window that looked down over the front of his property, arms folded and irritated by the sight below. He’d just finished the first stage proposal for the Boston day spa development and was heading downstairs to call Cinna when a flash of colour had caught his eye; he’d watched as a young guy made his way up the uneven path to his front porch. He’d left it intentionally uneven once he’d finished the rehab of the old mansion - part of him had wanted to make the walk to his front door as unappealing as possible to put people off. Most times it worked, but in this case Peeta had to begrudgingly admire the guy’s persistence, if only to know he was going to turn him away the minute he thumped a fist on the grainy wood of the front door.

He waited until the kid had knocked a good 3 times before he swung the door open, resting both his hands on either side of the frame. “Yeah?” He grunted. _May as well give him time to catch his breath before he sent him away._ The boy - he couldn’t have been more than 15, with a smattering of freckles on his cheeks and an identical grouping of pimples on his chin - gulped, ran a hand nervously through a shock of black hair.

“I, uh, was told to give you these. From Miss Everdeen.” He thrust a box towards Peeta, plain white with a single cresting wave imprinted in blue on the corner.

“What is it?”

“I...I don’t know. I didn’t look.”

Peeta snorted. “Of course you looked.  What is it?”

The boy’s cheeks coloured, and he looked down at the ground. “Cinnamon buns.”

“Cinnamon buns, hey?” Peeta reached out, took the box and flipped the lid open with his thumb. Inside sat three round, plump cinnamon buns, and a small card in an envelope. He was bemused - and intrigued. “You can go now,” he said, barely glancing back up at the boy, who simply nodded before scrambling back down the path.

He closed the door behind him, meandered through the house until he reached the sunroom at the back. He plopped down onto the deep, comfortable cushions of the sofa, pulled the small card out of the box.

_I won’t ever mention a box other than the ones our cinnamon buns come in. Apology accepted._

_K.E._

The charm like a dead slug Haymitch mentioned shone through in the two short sentences, and he couldn’t lie to himself - not when it was just him, and he wasn’t sharing his thoughts with Haymitch, or with Cinna.

There was something about Katniss Everdeen that got to him. In the few short interactions he’d had with her, she’d gotten him angry, riled him up, intrigued him. Made him think about someone like he hadn’t thought about anyone in a long time, made him look twice at her legs, invaded his thoughts even when he didn’t want her to. Made him eat crow, and apologise. All of which annoyed him enough to promise himself he wouldn’t think about her anymore - and then something like this would happen.

He plucked one out of the box, and took a large bite. He rolled it around his mouth, chewed it slowly, tried to taste every aspect of it - the dough, the cinnamon, the sticky frosting. And with a sigh, dropped the remainder back into the box.

It looked like he was already going to have to break his stance about not going back to the bakery.

********

The Monday lunchtime and early afternoon rush had finally slowed, and Katniss was alone in the shopfront with her final two customers. She was begging for her lunch, but she hadn’t wanted to interrupt Annie while she worked on the books for the previous month. So she powered through with only a semi-honest smile on her face, and her mind partly on the sandwich she’d stored in the back fridge and the conversation going in front of her.

“Delly will be back, and since she’s bringing this Thom fellow with her, I thought it only fitting to serve one of Annie’s delicious cherry pies. This is the first time she’s brought _anyone_ home since she moved to Boston, and we think he might be _The One_.” Florence Cartwright’s voice had dropped to a whisper by the end of her sentence, and Katniss hoped the interest on her face was suitably sincere.

_Because on the inside, she didn’t really feel it._

“Well that’s fabulous news, Florence,’ Effie trilled from beside her. “My guests couldn’t get _enough_ of Annie’s cake when they visited recently, so I can’t say I blame you for going for the best.” She reached into her purse, pulled out a compact to fluff needlessly at her hair before dropping it back into what was obviously her latest Chanel purchase.

“I’m sure Annie will be thrilled to hear both of your compliments,” Katniss started, turning to reach into the display case for the deep dish cherry that Florence had been eyeing off since she’d entered the store. “And if Delly’s new man isn’t hooked by now, the promise of this every time he comes to town should reel him in.”

Florence laughed, her ample chest laughing with each chuckle. “Oh, Katniss, you should hear yourself. You’re practically a local with all those bad fishing puns you’re dropping into each sentence. Anyone would think you were born here!”

Katniss flushed in embarrassment, but part of her was secretly pleased. Even comments as small as that made her feel like she really _had_ found the place that was right for her.

Sliding the pie into the box, she flipped up the sides, closed the lid and placed it on the counter in front of Florence. “Is there anything else for either of you?” she asked, still a little curious as to why Effie was even in the bakery to start with. Sometimes she wondered if the woman just flitted about from store to store along Main Street to find out what had happened while she’d been out of town.

“Oh, I think-”

The harsh and abrupt jangling of the bell as the door slammed open startled all of them, and Katniss looked over in surprise as Peeta stalked in. She couldn’t help but notice the way his jeans fit - _dammit, why did all the bad ones have to look so good in jeans?_ \- and the way his hair was -

He threw the box on the counter, interrupting her ruminations, and the lid popped open slightly to reveal 2 out of the 3 cinnamon buns still untouched, and one half eaten. They glowered at each other silently, though Katniss wasn’t even sure why she was in the first place other than pure instinct.

"What the hell?" Katniss finally demanded indignantly, propping her hands on her hips.

"They're crap," Peeta retorted shortly. He shoved his hands in his front jeans pockets, jutted his jaw out as if to entice her to argue with him.

She took the bait.

"I beg to differ," she told him snappily. "Annie has won state competitions for these."

"Then these state competitions need to revisit their judging processes." He shrugged, then rolled his eyes as if to acquiesce to her comment. "Ok, so they're not _entirely_ crap. But they could be better."

Katniss felt her face flush in annoyance. _That would be the last damn time she did anything nice. And after he’d extended the olive branch to her in the first place!_ "Better, huh? You think you can do better? Fine then. You damn well go ahead."

Peeta cocked an eyebrow. "Is that a challenge?"

"Maybe it is." She jutted her chin out so that it was a mirror image to his; Effie and Florence looked on in blatant curiosity. Neither had even heard Peeta Mellark speak, let alone be so obviously _rude_. They'd heard the rumours of course - but seeing it in the flesh was something entirely different.

"Fine." Peeta yanked his hands out of his pockets, began rolling up his sleeves until they hit his elbows. _What the hell was he doing?_

"What the hell are you doing?" She yelped, voicing her thoughts.

"Taking your challenge. You gonna let me through to the kitchen?"

Katniss’ mouth dropped open, and she glanced towards the two women whose mouths had dropped open identically to hers.

"I-I..."

"Let him." Annie's voice came from the open kitchen door, and Katniss turned to see her eyeing Peeta curiously, one arm cradling her extended belly. "I'm Annie by the way. The person whose cinnamon buns you so obviously have an issue with."

Katniss was surprised when his cheeks flushed slightly, as his eyes darted down to her stomach before flitting back up again. "I just think they can be done better."

"Then by all means," she pushed the door open, gestured him through; he walked past, giving her a wide enough berth that he didn't brush up against her.

"What are you doing?" Katniss hissed at Annie once the door swung closed behind Peeta's back. "He just insulted you, Annie! And you're letting him in there?"

"I never would have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes!" Effie trilled. "So short and abrupt! Such _abhorrent_ manners."

"But so attractive!" Katniss, Annie and Effie all turned in surprise to see Florence shrugging innocently, dabbing at the corner of her mouth with a fingertip. "What? You can’t say anything different, and if any of you argue with me, I'll call you a liar."

None of them could argue with her.

"I'm intrigued," Annie said, turning back to Katniss. "This is the most we've gotten out of this guy since he got here, and I'm curious if he's going to be able to live up to his word. I'm aware enough to know that cinnamon buns aren't what I'm best at, and if he thinks he can improve them... then why not?"

"But Katniss is right, dear - you _have_ won competitions with them before," Effie reminded her.

Annie smiled wryly. "I think that's more of a lack of competition than an accurate representation of the buns." Rubbing a hand over her belly - Katniss could see the way the baby was shifting under Annie's shirt - she slid awkwardly onto one of the stools. "Kat, why don't you go out and keep an eye on our apprentice baker? I'll watch the shop front, keep Effie and Florence company."

Katniss' mouth opened to protest, then stopped. _The last thing Annie needed was to be on her feet in the kitchen, watching some douche be blatantly disrespectful._ So she nodded reluctantly, and pushed her way through the kitchen door.

He'd already set himself up in the centre island of the kitchen, ingredients lined up in front of him as he mixed something in bowl. He'd forgone an apron, and she could already see flecks of flour on the black shirt he wore.

"I didn't know she was pregnant," he started, without looking at her.

"So if you'd known, you wouldn't have offended a pregnant woman?" She crossed her arms, leant against the counter behind her.

He shrugged, the movement awkward as he continued to mix. He didn't say anything more as he plunged his hands into the bowl, lifted out the buttery mixture and began to form it into a smooth, round ball. If Katniss looked at his long, strong fingers and remembered the time they’d brushed against hers, she wouldn’t admit to it. _She was just watching him work, that’s all._

He moved over to the counter that sat in front of a wide window looking down towards the waterfront, placing the ball of dough carefully onto a board. He rested his hands on the counter, glanced out the window briefly.

"Nice view," he muttered, before heading back to the island and reaching for another bowl. She watched as he haphazardly dumped in brown sugar, cinnamon, and a large dollop of butter, then pursed her lips at the way he didn't measure anything. She frowned as he began to look around the room, before his gaze locked onto her. Then he was walking towards her, reaching out, and her heart did a weird flip in her chest, her stomach filled with unexpected butterflies. She held her breath when his hand was just about to slip around the braid tossed over her shoulder...

And instead came away with the jar of vanilla pods that sat on the shelf behind her.

She hated that her stomach wouldn’t stop jittering.

Peeta had already turned back to the counter without a second glance at her by the time she'd even processed what had happened. He pulled one single pod out of the jar, and scraped it clean, adding the vanilla to the mixture. "It's all about the ingredients," he began. "It doesn't matter if you put exactly this much of this or this much of that. You get to know it right once you've made it enough."

"That's all well and good," Katniss replied, "But we're a business. Which means we have to keep track of stock."

Peeta snorted. "A little extra cinnamon here and there isn't going to mean shit when you start selling more of these."

Katniss rolled her eyes - thankful that his attitude put an abrupt halt to her butterflies - and pulled herself up onto the counter. _Finnick wasn't here, he couldn't rouse at her for it._ "You're pretty damn sure of yourself, aren't you? Though it shouldn't surprise me. Rude, cocky, super confident..."

He chuckled, and even Katniss could hear the sarcasm in it. "You don't know a thing about me, so don't even bother. All you need to know is that I know how to make these." His hands were firm and assured as he held the bowl in one while he used a spoon with the other as he continued to mix the filling together.

She swung her legs back and forth, her heels hitting the shelf below her. "You know...I thought your postcard was a peace offering," she began sardonically. "These buns were an acceptance of that. You didn't see me throwing the card back in _your_ face, did you?" She watched as he faulted, then continued on mixing as if she hadn't said anything.

With a huff, she figured if _he_ wasn't going to talk, neither was she. So instead she watched him move around the bakery kitchen as though he'd been born in one. He greased trays, washed bowls, put away ingredients he'd already used. He looked over occasionally at the dough that was slowly but surely doubling in size, tasted the filling with his pinkie on occasion to make sure it was right.

Eventually he retrieved the dough, placed it on the flour dusted counter in front of him and began to punch and roll it out into a thin layer. It was different, watching him bake. Annie was measured, slow, her arms and hands soft with the dough, or delicate with the intricate patterns on her cakes. Finnick was a little flamboyant, liked to swivel his hips in tune to the music he always had on the radio as he worked. Peeta, on the other hand, was serious, his jaw firm as he worked the dough as if he was venting all his frustrations out on it. The long, ropy muscles in his forearms shifted with each movement, his biceps strained against the soft material of his shirt. His hands were tense, the knuckles rolled and she imagined - fleetingly - that he would probably be pretty damn good at giving a massage.

He looked like he'd done this a million times before. He looked like he was home. And something panged in her chest, as she realised she was suddenly being privy to a side of him he hadn’t expected to show her.

Seemingly satisfied, he began to spread the cinnamon filling across the thin dough, then rolled it up into one long, thin strip. He cut it up into small, round discs and placed each one onto the greased trays before covering it with a clean tea towel. Then he washed his hands, turned back to face her.

She took perverse pleasure in not telling him he had a smear of flour across his cheek.

"That's gotta be left for an hour, so I'll be back. Heat the oven about 15 minutes before then."

"Heat...What? Where are you going?"

"I got things to do. I'll be back in an hour." He began to walk towards the kitchen door.

 _After all that, he was just going to walk out of here?_ "Heat it to what?" She asked in frustration.

He looked over his shoulder and grinned in such an uncharacteristic manner that it took her aback. It made his whole face a thousand times more approachable - and possibly even more attractive. "You work in a bakery. You'll figure it out." The door swung closed behind his retreating back.

Even if she’d been able to think of a respectable comeback, it wouldn’t have arrived for hours more.

Begrudgingly she heated the oven on time, passed the hour waiting for him to come back by ordering Annie home, cleaning the front tables and serving the Mitchell boys their preferred after school treats of jam donuts. Peeta didn’t say a word when he returned, simply walked straight into the kitchen, slid the trays into the oven, then prepared the icing to drizzle on top. Katniss both hated and admired him for his ability to be as rude as humanly possible and get away with it.

She sometimes desperately missed being able to do that herself.

Peering occasionally through the small porthole in the door to keep an eye on him, she noted that within 20 minutes he’d taken the trays out and popped them on the bench, his head nodding slightly in what she could only imagine was approval. He dipped a spoon into the icing, deftly flicked the creamy white mixture over the top of the buns until they were covered in haphazard swirls. Then he looked up, and caught her eye through the window.

“You want one?” He called shortly.

Katniss pushed the door open, leant against it. “Aren’t they still a little hot?”

“All the best things are,” Peeta replied, picking one up and blowing on it gently before taking a large bite. She opened her mouth to warn him about burning his mouth, but it didn’t seem to bother him - he simply nodded again, licked a wayward string of icing from his top lip.

“Eat one,” he told her, this time his voice more stern, more demanding. With a final glance over her shoulder to the empty storefront, she quickly moved over to the counter, picked up the warm bun and lifted it to her lips. She sniffed - she had to admit it smelled _amazing_ \- then bit into it tentatively. Her eyes immediately shot over to his, and he smirked.

“Told you,” Peeta said, then walked out again, carrying only the warm bun he’d already begun eating.

********

Annie opened her front door, looked down at the carry-out container Katniss held in her hands.

Katniss shrugged, the annoyance clear on her face. “He’s right. They’re incredible.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! You can find me on tumblr - I'm sponsormusings there as well.


	5. Chapter 5

The second week of October brought with it a wind that was brisk, that snuck under doors, curled around ankles and teased leaves from the trees. Their burnt oranges, burnished golds and flaming reds littered the trimmed lawns of the homes closest to Main Street, and accentuated the black and orange streamers that wound their way around posts on porches and the grinning pumpkins that sat on front stoops in preparation for Halloween.

Katniss liked the way Quarter Mile Bay was completely different to her hometown which, even in the middle of fall, had never seemed to attain the same _fire_ that it did here. Everything glowed and the trees looked warm and golden, like they had been toasted by the sun. And while she loved nothing more than seeing the clusters of trees just outside of town dense and mysterious and dark green, she admitted that there was something appealing about the sunset colours that had begun to fill her town.

But the cooler days also made it that much harder to get out of bed, especially when she was on a half-day shift at the bakery, her bed was warm and she was afforded the luxury of a sleep-in.

Now she was late.

The enjoyment at her late start had been shot to hell when, halfway through a shower hot enough to almost steam the skin from her body, the hot water system had blown, leaving 2 inches of water across the floor of her mudroom and her head covered in shampoo suds. She'd spent too long trying to mop it up, and even longer convincing the local plumber to come look at it as soon as he could. And attempting to wash out her hair in the laundry sink with freezing cold water reminded her too much of the times during her childhood when they'd had to choose between food on the table or hot water in the pipes.

As a result, by the time she'd gotten out of the house and shoved her spare key in the letterbox for the plumber, she'd already been 20 minutes behind schedule, her hair was a partially washed hot mess, she hadn't eaten breakfast and she felt like shit.

_Happy Tuesday._

Her calves burned as she stalked down Quarter Mile Drive as quickly as she could, then turned up onto Main, her breath coming in fits and starts. Yanking her phone out of her back pocket, she entered her passcode, and began frantically bashing out a text to Finnick.

_B there soon. Hot water busted. Just down the-_

With a sudden and abrupt thud, Katniss slammed into a solid form, almost losing her footing on the pathway, her phone beginning to slip from her fingers as a result of the impact. She clutched at it urgently, reclaiming it just before it hit the ground, and she breathed a sigh of relief. _Serves you right for not looking up_ , she silently scolded herself.

Brushing a knotty strand of hair out of her face with her hand, she glanced up at the person she’d rammed into; a smiling face with eyes that were bright and friendly and the colour of caramel looked back at her. He was dressed entirely in black - black jeans, black V-neck t-shirt, black boots - the only hint of colour a flash of gold on his wrist and his ring finger.

 _Obviously an out of towner_.

“Sorry about that,” she muttered. “I know I shouldn’t type on my phone as I walk…”

“It’s ok,” he smiled, as he slipped his own phone in the pocket of his pants. “I live in New York; I should be more adept at navigating the footpath. Plus I was trying to make a call and not paying attention myself, so it's as much my fault.”

She smiled shortly, with little enthusiasm or warmth, and glanced down at her watch. _Ok, now she was really late. _"As long as you're alright, I have to keep going, get to work..." She gestured across and up the street towards the bakery, where even from this far away she could see Annie curiously peering out the front door towards them.

"I'm fine," he smiled again, drawing her attention back to him. "Although, perhaps you could quickly help me first?"

Katniss shrugged. "Yeah?"

"Unfortunately I've got a flat-" he indicated behind him, to the sleek black rental car parked at the curb, and its deflated front wheel, "-and it appears as though I wasn't given a jack to help me out with that. You don’t happen to have one I could borrow?"

"Sorry," she grimaced. "But I don't have a car anymore, therefore no jack. I could check with my boss-"

The man shook his head. "No, no, its fine, I don't want to put you out. I'll try my friend again; hopefully he'll come down and help."

"Your friend?" She asked, more out of habit than sincere interest.

He nodded. "Yes, I've come up to meet with my colleague, Peeta Mellark. Do you know him?"

Katniss couldn't have stopped the scowl that turned her mouth down if she'd tried. She folded her arms across her chest, lifted her chin haughtily. "Yeah, I know him. He doesn't like the cinnamon buns we sell in the bakery."

The man chuckled. "Yeah, Peeta is pretty particular about his baked goods." He stuck a hand out, and it was instinct more than anything else that caused Katniss to grasp it. His skin was warm and smooth against her own. "How rude of me, though. I'm Malachi Cinna," he introduced. "Though everyone just calls me Cinna."

"Nice to meet you Cinna. I'm Katniss," she replied, then sighed. "Look, it's a little cool out here. Why don't you come in the bakery, wait for your friend in there? He might have an issue with Annie's cinnamon buns, but her éclairs are the shit, and I will fight him on that if I have to." She blushed, and her fingers reached up and toyed with the end of her braid. "Sorry.  That's probably not a very proper way of promoting our stock."

Cinna laughed, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the keys to the car; the locking lights flashed. "I'd love to, Katniss. Lead the way."

She turned on her heel and led him up the street to the entrance of the bakery, gratefully stepping into the sugar scented warmth. Annie was at the barista-grade coffee machine, pretending she hadn't watched them walk up the street, while Finnick was closing the register and dropping a handful of notes into the gnarled, outstretched palm of Sae, who shuffled out the door with a quick grin towards Katniss. "Take a seat, Cinna, and Finnick there can come over and tell you what you should eat."

Finnick stuck his tongue out at her as she crossed to the counter and pushed him in Cinna's direction, throwing her purse and phone on the bottom shelf. "I'm sorry," she apologised quickly to Annie. "Hot water burst, blah blah, then bumped into this guy." She indicated over her shoulder towards Cinna, who was nodding seriously at whatever Finnick was saying to him. "I've had a shitty morning."

Annie patted her arm. "I know, honey. It's written all over your face. Why don't you go out back, splash your face, rebraid that birds nest, and I'll make you a hot chocolate in the meantime."

Katniss smiled slightly, and nodded, ducking through the swinging door to the small powder room at the back of the kitchen. And when she caught sight of her reflection, she was amazed she hadn't simply scared Cinna off entirely.

Snatching a brush from the medicine cabinet, she yanked the tie from her messy braid, running the brush through the knotted strands until they were as untangled as she could get, then deftly twisted it back, allowing her hair to lay in a thick trail over her shoulder. She then splashed her face and took two deep breaths, hoping to rid herself of the tension that had settled on her shoulders. It didn't work, but she did feel at least a little better.

Katniss moved back through to the front of the shop, noted Cinna had a steaming cup of coffee and one of the aforementioned éclairs sitting on the table in front of him. He smiled slightly at her, then turned his attention back to the sketchbook in front of him.

"Here." Annie held a thick orange mug out to her, filled to the brim with fragrant liquid chocolate and topped with whipped cream, a smattering of dark chocolate curls dusting the top. "Drink this, and then tell me who that is."

"Who are you, Effie?" Katniss said lightly, before taking a sip. _So good_. "You’re nosy today."

"I’m running a business," Annie retorted with a grin that, despite her best intentions, looked strained.

"Well I doubt this guy will be back," she told her simply. "His name is Cinna and he's just in town to catch up with his friend. _Your_ friend, Peeta Mellark."

Annie eyes popped, then glowered. "He's not my friend. He's caused me far too many sleepless nights lately, craving those buns."

"And you told me you'd never looked at another man," Finnick whispered loudly, sneaking up behind her and pushing her purse into her hand.

"Haha," Annie said wryly, slapping at his arm and holding the purse up. "What are you doing?"

"Sending you home. You shouldn’t even be here."

"But I don't want to go home." Annie's tone was firm, if a little petulant.

“Aaaaannie.” Finnick drew the word out in a singsong tone. He shucked her chin. “Quit arguing with me and just go home. You were meant to stop coming in weeks ago - we agreed on you doing the books, nothing more.”

Annie sighed. “Yeah, but I’m bored. And I agreed to that before I was a _week and a half overdue_ , for God’s sake.” She attempted to fold her arms across her chest, got so far as to push her purse awkwardly into breasts that had swollen to almost twice their size. She glowered.  “Fine, I’ll go. But I’m walking, and you can’t stop me.”

“That’s ok,” Katniss interjected, before Finnick could argue. She plucked their house keys from the dish that sat directly under the register, pressed them into Annie’s palm. “Thanks for the hot chocolate; now get lost.”

Annie smiled and pressed a quick kiss to Finnick’s cheek before beginning her slow waddle out the door. She chanced a glance at Cinna, tossed another look over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow, and then stepped outside.

“Your wife is incorrigible,” Katniss said to Finnick, pulling down her apron from the notch by the kitchen door and slipping it on. "All I've done the last month or so is send her home from here."

He smiled. “It’s because she’s nervous, but doesn’t want to admit it. Plus, being here takes her mind off the fact that the kid still hasn't arrived."

“My wife was the same.” Cinna’s voice traveled across the room, and he smiled bashfully. “Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear, and seeing her reminded me so much of how Portia was with our first.”

Finnick’s eyes lit up. “You have kids?” he asked, taking two strides and planting himself in the seat across from Cinna. Katniss rolled her eyes, got to the task of checking that all thick glass jars were still stocked sufficiently of cookies. It wasn’t that she didn’t like kids - she did, and was genuinely excited for Finnick and Annie. It was more that kids just weren’t on the table for her, weren’t something that she could foresee being in her life plan, therefore it didn’t give her that instant feeling of connection with someone whenever the subject was raised.

“Two,” she heard him say proudly. “Portia and I were always so focused on our careers - she as a stylist, and my architecture firm - that we weren’t sure it would ever happen for us. And then when it did, we couldn’t believe how we’d ever doubted it. But the amount of time I caught her sneaking back to her office 'just to do one more thing'...She-” he interrupted himself as his phone rang, glanced down at the screen. “Sorry, I just have to get this.” He turned his back slightly so he was looking out the glass bay window. “Peeta, I’m glad you called me back. Mmm-hmm, yeah, that’s right. Can you bring a jack down, help me out? Great. Yeah, I’m just at the bakery on Main. No, an éclair, why? Ahhh, ok.” Katniss suddenly felt his eyes on her, and glanced up to see him looking her way. “Alright, I’ll see you soon.” He ended the call, smiled at Finnick. “Sorry about that.”

“No worries at all,” Finnick said smoothly. He leant back in the chair, lifted his right foot so that it rested on his left knee. “So you know Peeta from work, huh?”

“I’m his boss,” Cinna said with a faint smile. “Though he’s more like family these days. We were all disappointed when he moved up here, but it was for the best.”

"We don't see him often," Finnick said honestly, then laughed. "Though he did barge into the bakery last Monday like he owned the place and completely took over the kitchen."

Even from this far away she could see Cinna blink slowly in surprise. "Peeta... _baked_?"

Finnick nodded in confirmation. "Yep. I wasn't here to see it, but according to Katniss, he dissed my wife’s' cinnamon buns, then proceeded to make the best damn ones they'd ever eaten in their lives. Thanks to him, Annie has been craving them all week and it's beginning to send me insane."

Cinna pursed his lips, smoothed a hand over his close-cropped dark brown hair.  "I don't believe it," he murmured.

"What?" Finnick asked with a smirk. "You find it hard to believe your friend is kinda rude?"

The man shook his head, a hint of a smile curving his lips. "Oh no, that's Peeta, to my lasting regret. It's the baking that surprised me, but that's neither here nor there I suppose."

Katniss hated that she was standing at the counter, spending her time refilling already full cookie jars, because she wanted to listen, wanted to know more about the guy who made her want to punch him...then kiss him.

It was ridiculous.

She’d thought of him more than she’d wanted to in the last week. His blatant rudeness, the look on his face when he’d seen that Annie was pregnant, the concentration in his eyes as he’d kneaded the dough. The tone of his voice as he’d demanded she eat one of the buns, the grin on his face as he’d walked out of the bakery. She thought she’d had him pegged, had firmly put him in the category of ‘Attractive Self-Confident Asshole’.  Then he’d baked, and something in him had shifted, and now she wasn’t so sure. He was still an asshole, no doubt, but she now had the definite feeling there was more to him than that.

Resolving to stop listening, she figured Finnick was fine to man the front, and pushed through the door back into the kitchen, began pulling out ingredients from the walk-in-fridge to make some of the gourmet sandwiches she’d noted they were running low on. She began preparing them, losing herself in building, slicing and pre-wrapping the thick sourdough halves in wax paper. Lining the finished products up on a tray - and figuring she’d given Peeta more than enough time to arrive, pick up Cinna and leave again - she hefted it and knocked the door open with her hip.

At the same time Peeta pushed through the front door, casual in low slung faded jeans and a threadbare red shirt that had almost faded to a salmon pink. Lines of white paint smeared the hem.

“Shit,” she muttered under her breath, intentionally ignoring him and moving to the display case, sliding open the door and pushing the thin tray onto the top shelf. She heard him greet Cinna, then his voice drop a couple of octaves - and degrees - as he replied to Finnick’s hello.

Katniss wrote up the small plaques to place in front of each of the different sandwiches, tried to tune out the murmurings that were coming from the other side of the room. Then Finnick was beside her, nudging her in the side with an elbow.

“You wanna bag two of those turkey and cranberry’s up?” he asked, nodded his head towards where Cinna and Peeta were loitering by the door. “Mr Personality and Cinna are going to take some.”

She snorted, pulled two out of the display, and dropped them into a brown paper bag. Suddenly the phone rang, and Finnick reached for it.

“Cresting Wave Bakery, Finnick speaking,” he greeted. He pushed through the kitchen door, leaving Katniss with the two sandwiches in hand. She sighed.

“That’ll be $8.00,” she called over to them impatiently, watched as Peeta crossed the floor to her, reaching into his pocket for his wallet. He tossed a bundle of ones onto the counter, took the sandwiches from her as she held them out.

“Thanks,” he muttered, not willing to look her in the eye.

“No worries,” she replied, determined to stick with his original peace treaty, even if he couldn’t.

“It was nice meeting you, Katniss,” Cinna called from over Peeta’s shoulder, and she tipped her head so she could see him around Peeta’s broad form.

“You too, Cinna,” she said perfunctorily. “Thanks for dropping by.”

He smiled again, and stepped outside; Peeta followed after him quickly. She popped open the register, deposited the notes Peeta had left behind.

But she looked up in time to see him glance through the bakery window back at her. She didn’t break his gaze, refused to back down.

He looked away first.

********

Finnick drew her out of her self-imposed daze, pushing through the door frantically, his eyes wide and face pale.

“Katniss, I gotta go!” He practically yelled. He pivoted on his foot, as though he wasn’t sure what he was doing. His arms were flung out to his sides, palms held in a stop gesture, his body frozen solid. “It’s Annie. She’s having the baby. Oh shit, she’s having the baby. Holy shit. I gotta go, Annie’s having-”

“FINNICK!” Katniss snapped, slapping him on the arm. “Snap out of it and go home, for crying out loud. Get her to the hospital.”

“It’s half an hour away!” he said desperately.

“I know, dummy,” she retorted. She pushed him towards the door, could feel the muscles in his back and arm shaking with nerves. “Get going, and don’t call me til Baby Odair arrives.”

“O...ok,” he stuttered, then turned quickly. “You going to be alright?”

“Go!” she shouted, and he practically ran out the door.

********

_"Geez, Peet. This is one hell of a project." Cinna planted his hands on his hips, looked around the main living space that had seen better days. Wallpaper peeled, a floorboard had rotted, and he swore he heard a mouse scurry somewhere behind him._

_"It's mostly cosmetic," Peeta replied. "I'll get Aaran to come and help me when he can. Trust me - I'll make it work."_

_Cinna studied him carefully. "You know, when you called to tell me you'd bought a place, I thought you were crazy. Now I know it." He chuckled, rested a hand on Peeta's shoulder. "I have complete and utter faith in you. But..."_

_"But?"_

_"Are you sure this is where you want to be? You could be closer, both to the city and your family-"_

_"No," Peeta said firmly. "This is my home. I can feel it."_

********

"You did it," Cinna said with a smile as he stepped through the back door onto the deck. The screen swung shut behind him with a sharp thwack.

"I did what?" Peeta asked, dropping his sketchbook to the ground and looking up at his friend. He stretched his legs out, shifting in one of the Adirondack chairs that graced the back deck; Cinna dropped into the one beside him.

"The house. I mean...I know I've seen it a couple of times since the first time I visited, but finally complete? It's terrific. I can see why you rarely want to leave."

They’d left the bakery, had eaten the sandwiches sitting by the shore before heading back to the house on Victor Avenue. Cinna hadn’t been to Quarter Mile in over a year, hadn’t seen the final product of the renovation that had taken Peeta and his brother - a contractor - close to five years to complete in their spare time. He'd insisted on taking a thorough tour the moment he'd arrived, and as Peeta saw it every day, he’d let his friend go through it on his own. Now, seeing Cinna's response, it gave him a sense of pride that his boss - a man known for his attention to detail, eye for a good renovation and a recipient of numerous awards for his designs - liked what he’d done with it.

They sat on the deck, talked shop and the day spa facility project until Cinna finally cleared his throat. "I guess you want to know why I came up to see you."

Peeta's brow furrowed. "I thought it was to talk about Boston, and discuss the client meeting there next Monday?"

Cinna shook his head. "Peeta, you know we can do that via phone. No, I came to speak to you about the project I mentioned to you a little while ago."

Peeta didn't know if it was instinct or foreboding that made his stomach pitch.

Cinna leant forward, rested his elbows on his bent knees. “We’ve scored a contract. A big one. It could mean millions of dollars being brought into the business, could give us the opportunity to expand like I’ve always wanted to.”

“That’s great,” Peeta replied sincerely. “What is it?”

“Redeveloping an outdated building into an entertainment hub. The exposure alone will be enormous.”

“And you want my help.” Cinna nodded. “Of course, you know I’m always on board.”

Cinna coughed lightly. “It’s in New York.”

 _And there it was. The clincher_.

“No,” Peeta said bluntly.

“Peeta, hear me out.”

“No.” He shook his head again. “Cinna, we had an agreement. Anywhere but New York.”

“I know.” Cinna held his hands out imploringly. “But this is huge, and I want my best working on this project. You’re one of them. Peeta, your artistic talent consistently blows me away. You’re an amazing architect, but remember why you got into it in the first place?”

_He remembered a family trip to Europe when he was 16, his heart stopping as he looked at buildings that couldn’t be described as anything more than pieces of art. He remembered wanting to do that, wanting to leave an impression behind that maybe, one day, another 16 year old with a passion for drawing and painting would be led down a similar path. He wanted to create, wanted to make something that could withstand the test of time._

“Architecture is art,” he mumbled finally.

“Exactly,” Cinna said. “You uttered those words to me in your interview, when you came to me in the middle of completing your degree, begging me for a chance. You won me over with _that_ , but you signed the deal with your work, your potential. And Peeta, I want you to work on this.”

Peeta dropped his head in his hands, ran his fingers through his hair. “Would I have to come to meetings? There?”

“Yes. That’s non-negotiable.”

Peeta swallowed heavily. _Was he ready for that? Could he do it? Could he go back?_

He looked up, looked at the man who had been so supportive of him since that fateful day he’d walked into the offices of _Cinna and Associates_  and asked for an internship.

“I’ll think about it,” he said finally, and Cinna nodded. It was all Peeta could promise him at the moment.

Afterwards, they avoided talking work for the rest of the night - instead falling into old habits of arguing over baseball, discussing what they were - or weren’t - watching on Netflix, and what latest starlet Portia was having to deal with at her work. It was comforting, in a way, to speak with Cinna like they used to, before Peeta had left town.

But reminders were always there, lying under the surface as though they could jump out and bite at any moment.

They ate - steaks, jacket potatoes, and a crème brulee for dessert - and slumped at the dining table, the remnants of their meal spread out on front of them.

“You know, that’s the first time I’ve ever stopped off in town in all the time you’ve lived here,” Cinna announced absently as he scraped his bowl clean.

“Really?”

He nodded. “Normally I just head straight from the airport to here, then head back again the next day. I’ve never had the need to. It’s almost a picture perfect image of what I thought a small coastal town would be, right down to the people.”

Peeta shrugged, rubbed a belly that was bursting to the seams from food. “I suppose so. I don’t spend too much time down there.”

Cinna’s eyes twinkled. “That’s not what I heard.”

Peeta scoffed. “What did you hear?”

"The guy in the bakery, Finnick, told me you took over their kitchen the other day.”

Peeta had the decency to blush, though his set jaw counterbalanced it. “Yeah I did. Their cinnamon buns need improvement; I told you that on the phone.”

Cinna raised his eyebrow. “They must have been pretty bad if it made you bake, Peeta.”

Peeta glanced away, before rising to his feet and crossing the kitchen to the fridge. _He couldn’t really explain that he still wasn’t sure what had come over him to make him do that. It was more than the buns - far more, because even he could admit they weren’t as bad as he’d made out - but he wasn’t going to admit that._

Cinna rose, followed him into the kitchen. “He seemed to think it was funny. But the girl? She seemed pretty unimpressed and pissed off by you.”

He rolled his eyes. "Of course she did. She's done nothing but be a pain in my ass the last few months," Peeta complained as he opened the fridge, drew out two bottles.

"Really? She seemed quite harmless to me. A little sad, but I reckon there's a fiery heart to that one."

"Sad?" Peeta had latched onto the one word that reflected what he'd thought the first time he'd seen her in the bakery. "You think she's sad?"

Cinna reached for the bottle in Peeta's outstretched hand, dug into the drawer for an opener. He popped the top, handed the opener to Peeta. "I do," he confirmed. "She hides it well, but she's got that thick exterior to mask it - and she does it a lot better than someone else I know." He tipped his bottle in Peeta’s direction. "You've lost all ability to communicate, buddy."

Peeta sneered, turned to glance out the window to the endless darkness outside and ignored Cinna’s jibe. "I don't know anything about the sad. She's just...got the charm of a dead slug, as someone so eloquently put it to me once."

Cinna cleared his throat, a faint smile on his face. "Huh. I don't believe it."

"What?"

"You like her." Cinna’s simple comment caused him to drop the bottle opener into the sink with a clatter, and he looked over his shoulder, the annoyance clear on his face.

"No I don’t," Peeta snapped, lifting the now opened bottle to his lips, drinking deeply. _Thinking of her at odd times of the day? Sure. Liking her? Definitely not._

"You do, and I’m the last person you can deny it to." Cinna crossed his legs at the ankles, leant against the kitchen counter, then dealt the killer blow. "I saw your sketches earlier."

Peeta glared at him. “Geez, Cinna, if I had a damn journal would you read that too?”

Cinna chuckled, took a sip of his beer.  ”They were on your drawing board beside the sketches of the spa - a little hard to miss,” he said wryly.

Peeta didn’t say anything at first, just stared down into the sink, annoyed not only that Cinna had seen the sketches, but that he was making him question himself.  He didn’t have time for pretty girls with long legs and nice hair and a no-bullshit attitude. Not at all. “I don’t _like_ her,” Peeta finally insisted, looking up. “She’s just…good to draw.”

"Like Cass was good to draw?"

The air felt like it had been sucked out of the room with a vacuum, Peeta's chest tightening as he slowly turned.

"That was different," he hissed. "And you know it."

Cinna had the grace to nod. "You're right, it was different. It doesn't change the fact that you have drawings of someone who is practically a stranger to you strewn across your drawing board."

Peeta chewed down on his bottom lip, willing his stomach to stop pitching. He hadn't left his sketches of Katniss all over his work station - _had he?_

Maybe he had.

Cinna sighed, crossed the kitchen so that he stood beside Peeta, and rested his hands on the counter. "I'm not here to butt into your life, Peeta - just for work. But I _do_ want to make sure you're happy. Or as happy as you're going to be."

Peeta lifted the bottle to his lips again, the cold liquid sliding down his throat and easing the aching that had set in. He swallowed until the bottle was empty and he could drop it uselessly in the sink. "I know," he finally said. "And...I am. Happy, I mean."

He even surprised himself with the admission. Because without intending to, he _was_ happy. Even if he didn’t necessarily show it.

********

Later, when he dreamt of Katniss’ body hovering over his, her dark hair a silky curtain blocking out the world as she clenched and tightened around him, and he woke up hard and lathered in sweat, he blamed it solely on a conversation he hadn’t even wanted to have.

_Not on the fact that he actually wanted her._

********

The little fingers were so small compared to her own, the fingernails barely bigger than the head of a pin. His hair was downy and dark, more like his mother’s than his fathers, and thicker than she expected it to be. His mouth opened, yawned, a perfect little ‘O’.

Dylan Odair was adorable.

“He’s beautiful,” Katniss said, smiling up at Annie, who hadn’t appeared to take her eyes off her son since the minute Katniss had arrived at their house.

“He is,” Annie murmured in response. “I’m glad you finally got to see him.”

With the birth, a busy week at the bakery, and Finnick taking as much time as he could to spend time with his newborn, Sunday morning had been the first chance she’d had to visit the latest addition. “I’m just sorry it took me so long to come over.”

“Don’t apologise.” Annie finally looked up, smiled gently. “You’ve been busy, and I can’t thank you enough for that. You’ve practically run the bakery yourself this week.”

Katniss knew the dark circles under her eyes and the fact that she had fallen asleep on the couch at 7pm twice in the past week attested to that.

“It’s my job,” she said simply, running a finger down Dylan’s arm before shifting back in her seat beside Annie on the sofa. “And people have been pretty good about it all. Rue’s helped a lot too.”

“Finnick said she’s been doing a great job of manning the counter outside of school,” Annie admitted. “But that doesn’t change the fact that you worked too much this week, and that might not change anytime soon. It’s a lot...more than we expected it to be. I‘m not sure we can juggle both at the moment.”

Katniss’ brow furrowed. “What are you saying? Are you going to close down the bakery for a while?” She couldn’t help the frisson of worry that snuck into her voice. _She couldn’t afford not to have this job._

“Not at all.” Finnick stepped into the entryway to the Odair’s lounge room, his hair a tangled mess of bronze waves. His shirt had what suspiciously looked like baby vomit on the shoulder. He leant against the frame, and even from here Katniss could see the way his eyes shifted immediately to his wife and child. Everything he felt for them was clear on his face.

“So what exactly do you mean?” she asked.

“We’ve been thinking that we’re going to need some help, out the back in the kitchen,” he said simply, then looked directly at Katniss. “And we’ve decided to see if…” he trailed off, as though the next words were hard to say. Katniss looked between each of them, confused, the room silent except for Dylan’s faint snores, a clock ticking in another room, the nervous echo of her own heart thudding nervously. Then it hit her like a truck.

“No!” she exclaimed incredulously, drawing out the word with an extended O. “You want to ask _him_?”

“He’s obviously good at what he does,” Annie explained.

“Oh my god, you don’t even _know_ him! And he’s an asshole! And he already _has_ a job!” _She couldn’t believe they were thinking this._

“He must have time on his hands if he can just waltz into the bakery and bake on a whim,” Finnick replied.

“Or maybe he works nights as a stripper-gram, and he has the day time off!”

Finnick snorted. “You heard as well as I do that his friend said he was his boss _and_ that he had an architecture firm. It’s a safe bet that’s what he does.”

“Then maybe he’s busy doing that,” she muttered. _How were they even discussing this?_

“Look, he can bake, Katniss. And if we can get him to do this, even for a few weeks just while we settle in…”

She threw a hand up in frustration. “Why didn’t you think of this earlier? I’m not telling you how to run your business or anything... _But_ I told you weeks ago we might need more help.”

Finnick flushed. “I know. And I kept vetoing it, thinking we’d be ok. But I was wrong. Just a few weeks, Katniss…”

“Friends agree to help others out,” she said bluntly. “And he doesn’t know any of us any more than we know him.”

“He knows you,” Annie reasoned quietly.

“He knows me about as far as he could throw me,” Katniss retorted, throwing out a phrase she’d heard Sae use on occasion.

“It’s more than he knows the two of us. And if he says no, he says no,” Finnick said. “There’s no harm in asking him.”

Then the penny dropped, the final sticking point they’d been keeping from her. “Oh wow.” She couldn’t help the laugh that burst from her lips. “You want _me_ to ask him, don’t you?” She scrubbed a hand across her face, knowing this was the last thing she needed. She didn’t need anyone who simultaneously infuriated and - if she had to admit it - turned her on, to be anywhere near her. She’d likely set the bakery on fire.

Dylan’s sharp cry split the awkward silence, and Katniss looked over to see Annie shushing him quietly, watched as his eyes flickered open to reveal irises a deep bluish-green that she knew instinctively one day would look identical to his dads. Ones that were currently pinned on her, pleadingly.

“Fine,” she said finally, with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll go ask him. He might shoot me for trespassing, but I’ll go. This afternoon, so you can plan my funeral tomorrow.”

Finnick grinned, crossed the room to her and planted a kiss that was wet and overenthusiastic on her lips. “Thank you, Katniss. And who knows, it might just work out to be a good solution.”

Katniss rolled her eyes, pushing him away. “Or we could bring the bakery down in a blaze of glory. Either way, you owe me. Starting with lunch. What’s on the menu?”

Finnick’s eyes twinkled. “Fish - what else?”

“Of course,” she replied with a shake of her head.

She now had the next few hours to figure out the best way to get Peeta Mellark to help people he hardly knew to run their bakery.

_She was fairly certain it was going to be impossible._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always, for reading, and for your kudos and comments.
> 
> To give a bit of a timeline of how the story has progressed, chapter one of this story was set in the final few days of August, the last week of summer vacation. Aaaaand I promise that in the next chapter, some questions will be answered ;)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr - I'm sponsormusings there as well


	6. Chapter 6

Katniss wiped her sweaty palms on the thighs of her jeans, then tugged on the hem of the long sleeved shirt she wore. She chewed on her lower lip, and looked at the uneven driveway ahead of her that led to his house.

And knew that it was beyond ridiculous how nervous she was.

“Damn you, Finnick,” she muttered under her breath, and began the walk down the drive.

The instructions from Finnick and Annie had been simple. Ask Peeta as nicely as possible if he would consider helping out at the bakery a few days a week until the Odairs were settled into a routine. They could negotiate pay, of course, and hours, and they would work it around his own responsibilities. If Peeta wanted to introduce any new items into the bakery, he was welcome to do so. And he wouldn’t be required to be out the front at all - he would only need to help in the kitchen.

Katniss thought they had a fat chance in hell, but she had to admit they needed to do _something_. If Finnick and Annie didn’t think they’d be able to make it through the next month without help, then help is what she’d try and get.

She just wished they’d listened to her when she’d suggested that weeks ago.

She’d spent a good hour on the beach after lunch had finished, procrastinating and putting off heading to Peeta's house. Finnick had offered his car, but she’d refused, instead preferring to walk. She’d gotten used to it since the old Civic had finally given up for the last time.

Kicking at a rock with her toe, Katniss continued trudging her way up the drive, simultaneously annoyed by and reluctantly impressed at the long, bumpy, uneven path that led to the house, bordered occasionally with trees that he’d intentionally let overgrow. At first glance most people would think it sheer laziness. She didn’t think that; not at all.

It was meant to be a deterrent. But it wasn’t going to put her off today.

She tossed her braid over her shoulder, walked through the final couple of trees, and stopped in front of the house. She studied the curved lines and woodwork, and the parapet that sat atop the house like an old fashioned look out. She knew, from the runs she took along the beach, that the back was full of windows and glass doors open to the ocean. But here at the front, every window except one directly in the middle of the third floor was covered with blinds that blocked out the world - which was good. Hopefully he hadn’t seen her coming, and he wouldn’t ignore the knock she was about to pound out on his door. She stepped up onto the covered front porch, raised her fist - at the same moment the door flung open.

The first thing she saw was his eyes - bright and blue, and staring at her as though he saw right through her. Second was the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily. Third was the way he drew in and blew out a deep breath, his chest expanding under the button-up shirt he wore.

She opened her mouth, only to have him beat her to it.

“What are you doing here?”

If she was shocked by his abrupt tone, she shouldn’t have been. She’d heard it often enough by now, had been on the receiving end of it more than she deserved.

“I came to ask you something,” Katniss said bluntly, shoving her hands in the front pockets of her jeans. She curled her lips in a snarl to match the equally unimpressed expression on his face. “But I’m fairly certain it was a bad idea.”

“I’m fairly certain you’re right,” Peeta retorted. He glanced down at his watch impatiently, and she followed his gaze. It was then that Katniss noticed the duffel bag in his hand, the laptop case slung over his shoulder. The words fell out of her mouth before she could stop them.

“You’re leaving?”

He smirked. “Why, gonna miss me?”

“Hardly,” she snapped back immediately. “I only ask because it would mean me coming to see you wasn’t only a bad idea, but also a useless one.” She turned on her heel, ready to march away, when she heard the thud of his bag hitting the ground.

“What is it?” He said gruffly.

“What is what?” Katniss retorted, turning back to him.

“What have you come to ask me?”

She folded her arms across her chest, scuffed her Vans into the dirt, sighed. “Are you sure you want to listen?"

"As sure as I'll ever be."

"Fine. You know Finnick and Annie, right?”

He nodded once. “I know who they are.”

“Good. Well they had their baby, and now - even though I _warned_ them ages ago - they’ve realised they need more time to settle in with Dylan, which means they need to take as much time off from the bakery as they can over the next few weeks.”

He raised an eyebrow; it was sarcastic, inquisitive and judging all rolled into one. She vaguely wished she could master it herself. “What do I have to do with this?”

Katniss snorted. “Wow,” she said. “You’re _really_ not going to make this easy, are you?”

“According to my friends, I’ve lost all ability to communicate, so probably not," he replied blandly.

"No surprise there," she retorted wryly. "I didn’t think you were a regular conversationalist." Peeta shrugged, but she caught the glint in his eye that hinted at amusement. _For someone who wasn’t exactly a people person, she’d managed to draw a positive reaction from him. Huh. Score one for her_. “Anyway,” she continued, and her words began to rush out with nerves that returned full force. “They want me to...ask you to help out in the bakery for a few weeks, just while they get on their feet. They’ll negotiate pay, hours, will work it around whatever it is you already do to earn money-”

“No.”

The response was firm, sharp, and when she looked in his eyes again, they were cold, closed off. Any and all of the amusement that had been in them had fled.

_So much for drawing him out_.

“You don’t have to answer me right-”

“No.” This time he reached down, hoisted his bag back over his shoulder, and stepped out onto the stoop, forcing her to take a step back. He pulled a set of keys out of his pocket, turned a large silver one in the front lock twice before clutching them in his fist. He slowly pivoted back to Katniss. “I can’t help them.”

“Can’t or won’t?” She challenged, and he shrugged again.

“Same thing,” he said. He looked down at his watch, then shoved his hand in his pocket. “Look, I have to go, I need to get to Portland to catch a train to Boston.” He slid around her, headed to the garage that looked like a new addition to the house. She scowled at his retreating back.

“So much for our peace treaty!” She yelled, just before he stepped into the side door of the garage.

Peeta turned slightly, tipped his head towards her in recognition. “You enjoy the rest of your Sunday, Katniss.”

She watched him drive away, annoyed, flustered and knowing _I told you so_ would figure heavily into her response to Finnick.

********

The train station was bustling, packed full of people returning to Boston from a weekend in Portland, or long distance commuters heading back for their work week. Peeta had turned on his iPod the minute he'd gotten out of his car, blocked out the world with some Bowie. He was annoyed, confused and had a stomach full of butterflies that felt remarkably like attraction that he didn't want to acknowledge.

The last thing he'd needed before getting on a train on his own, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company, was Katniss.

She'd shown up at his door, all wide eyes and faded green shirt that made the smattering of freckles across her nose stand out. He'd gotten defensive, she’d gotten snappy, then she'd dropped her question on him out of the blue. Shit, the _last_ thing he'd expected was for her to ask him to work in the bakery. Though, he supposed, he’d all but walked into being asked. The afternoon he'd stormed into the bakery, he'd let his emotions - and his quest for baked perfection - get in the way of his aim to be free from messy ties.

After 5 years, he was a little worried Katniss might be the one to start undoing the figurative double knots he'd put in place around himself. He was determined that he would continue to do what he could to keep her at arms length.

Peeta reached the ticket counter, picked up his pre-purchased ticket with little trouble and headed towards his platform. As he moved through the terminal, he felt the phone in his pocket vibrate, but he ignored it. If it was important, they’d leave a message. If not - he didn't care.

He arrived at his allocated car and stepped on board, sidestepping a couple of kids arguing in the passageway. Halfway down the car he slid his duffel into the overhead compartment, settled into his seat and dumped his laptop on the seat beside him - one he'd bought and paid for as well. Lifting his hips up from the seat, he pulled the phone out of his back pocket. The icon screen showed one missed call, no message.

From his dad.

Knowing it had been weeks since he’d checked in at home - regardless of whether the old man had left a message or not - he pressed redial, closed his eyes while he waited for his dad to pick up.

"Hello, you've reached-" Peeta sighed as it went to voicemail, then couldn’t help his chuckle as he heard a clatter over the line, a curse, followed by another thud and a second, more descriptive curse. Finally his dad was on the line, breathless.

"Peet!" He muttered. "Frigging dropping my phone all over the place. Your mom is gonna kill me if I break another one."

"Technology is your friend, Dad, embrace it," Peeta smiled.

"Yeah well when this phone can make a loaf of bread for me so I can sleep in past dawn for once, then I'll embrace it. In the meantime, I'll keep pretending I know how to text." He blew out a breath. "Thanks for calling me back, kiddo."

"Dad, I'm 32, quit it already."

"C’mon, you'll always be my kiddo, even when you're 50."

"Yeah yeah," Peeta replied, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smile. He left calling his dad for so long sometimes, he forgot how much he enjoyed speaking to him. Nolan Mellark was one of the few people Peeta still trusted wholeheartedly, and he couldn’t see it ever changing. "What’s going on?"

"Figured I'd call, see if you were thinking of coming home for Thanksgiving this year. Both your brothers are, and Ethen's bringing Ellie and the baby. Thought you might want to see your niece again?" There was a hint of hopefulness in the older man's tone - Peeta hadn’t been back to his hometown in at least four years and he knew it bothered his family, particularly his father.

"Dad, that's still a month away," he replied, avoiding the question.

"You’re avoiding my question," Nolan said bluntly, and Peeta blew out a breath in resignation. _The old man saw through him every time._

"You’re right. Sorry. Look, I…" he glanced out the window, at the people hurrying past to get on the train. He was prepared to turn his dad down flat - but at the last minute, something stopped him, and he sighed. "I don’t know, Dad. Things have changed in the last few months."

The pause at the other end of the line was pregnant. "Really?" The surprise, and curiosity, in his tone was evident when the question finally came. "In what way?"

Peeta scratched at the back of his neck. "I…I don’t really know. Things just feel different. I can’t promise anything. But…maybe."

A hoot echoed down the phone. "Kiddo, I will take a maybe any day of the week!" His dad sounded so excited, Peeta felt the pang of guilt so heavy and strong in his chest he wondered if an anvil had somehow landed on it.

_Geez, guilt was rearing its ugly head a lot lately._

"So what’s the change?" His father was asking as he tuned back in, and Peeta’s stomach pitched at the next question. "Have you…have you met someone-"

"No!" Peeta replied abruptly, loud enough for a couple of people across the aisle to look at him strangely. He turned his back so he was facing out the window as the carriage began to move from the platform, and willed away the thoughts of Katniss that had sprung up immediately at Nolan's question. "No, I...I've just had a few people tell me I should start moving on. Plus I got that.." he cleared his throat. "I, uh, got that box back."

"Ahhhh," Nolan replied, and Peeta could practically hear the wheels turning over in his head. "Well, it sounds like these people are right. You _do_ need to move on, you deserve to. Starting with that box. Keep it, throw it, but move on, Peeta. You need to."

"I know Dad, but-"

"No buts, kiddo. I mean it. I want to see you at Thanksgiving, and if these friends of yours are making you think beyond the square you live in for once, then they're good friends to you." Peeta heard a beeping echo on the other end, heard the scuffle of a hand as Nolan covered the mouthpiece of the phone. There was a muffled yell, and when there was no reply, the line became clear again. "Sorry, son, I gotta go. I've got cookies in the oven and your Mom must still be next door having coffee with Adele. It's been good talking to you, Peet. Love you."

"You too, Dad."

He ended the call, pocketed the phone, and continued staring out the window at the landscape as it rushed past. Nolan's, Cinna's and Haymitch’s words reverberated around in his head for the rest of the train trip. He knew they were right, had known it for a while, he just hadn't been ready to admit it - until last night. His Dad's firm words had all but solidified the decision he'd made.

The box was carefully tucked into the duffel bag overhead, wrapped up in an old sweatshirt he'd had since university. He was done waiting; he was going to face it head on. Starting in Boston.

********

Katniss shifted on her sofa, propping both legs on the arm at one end and punching the pillows under her head. She tucked the phone in between her ear and her shoulder, kept her eyes on the muted television.

“He said no, Annie,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry.”

Annie’s sigh was low, but resigned. “I figured he would. We always knew it would be a long shot.”

“What will you do?”

“We’ll think of something. It’ll be ok, Katniss. We won’t close the bakery at all.”

“I can keep putting in extra hours-”

“Kat, you already work full time as it is, and we’re relying on you a lot right now. We’ll figure something out, I promise.” She heard a baby start to wail in the background, and Annie laughed. “Ahh, Poor Finn. He’s been trying to put Dylan down for about an hour now, and the baby doesn’t want anything to do with it.”

Katniss smiled, switched the station from a nature documentary to a mindless reality program. “I’m sure Finnick will forget all about it tomorrow when that boy is staring up at him all baby-eyes and chubby cheeks.”

“Ayuh,” Annie agreed. “Mostly, Dylan’s been great. But when he doesn’t want to sleep, he doesn’t want to sleep.”

“My mom always said-” Katniss trailed off. Annie knew, of course, what had happened to her mother, and to Prim, how she’d lost them on that rain-swept road on a February evening. It didn’t make it any easier though, all these years later - it still gave her heart that little tug of emotion. She hoped, though, that one day it _would_ be easier.

“Yeah?” Annie prompted gently.

Katniss cleared her throat. “Um, from when Prim was about 6 months, my Mom would put a burner with lavender oil in it on the top of her bureau. It worked, every time, something about the scent. But I guess Dylan has a few months until you can use something like that to try and help though.”

“Yeah,” Annie said ruefully, “He’s probably still a little too young and his sense of smell too sensitive. But I’ll keep it in mind for when the time comes.”

They continued to chat, and Katniss was - as always - surprised at how easy it was for her to connect with Annie. Her first impression had been of a quiet woman; elegant, delicate and reserved, and she’d immediately determined they’d never get along. And while she’d been right in that Annie was elegant and delicate and generally quite serene, she also had hidden aspects to her that had been a pleasant surprise. She had one of the best senses of humour Katniss had experienced; she tossed back whiskey like she’d been born with a tumbler in her hand and swore like a trouper when Finnick pissed her off. She’d become one of Katniss’ closest friends.

Katniss glanced at the clock on the wall, her mind beginning to drift, and covered her mouth with a yawn. “Annie, I think I’m going to head to bed.”

“It’s not even 9pm!” Annie said with a laugh.

“I know,” Katniss sighed, stretched her arm out to the ceiling. “Talking to Peeta must’ve worn me out.”

Annie hummed. “ _Peeta_ , huh?”

“Yeah,” Katniss replied sarcastically. “That’s his name, remember?”

“Oh, I remember,” Annie said knowingly. “I think Finnick is right. I think you _like_ him.”

Her face flushed, and she was glad that Annie was on the other end of the line, not in the same room as her. “Shut up, Annie. You think he’s hot, and I won’t deny that he’s attractive.”

Annie laughed. “Katniss.”

“Yes.”

“Have you thought about him naked?”

“Geez, you’re as bad as your husband. Good night!” She hung up to the sound of Annie’s continued laughter in her ear, and dragged herself to bed. Once snuggled under the warm quilt, she stared up at the ceiling, at the thin stream of moonlight that snuck through the gap in the curtains. And pursed her lips in frustration.

_So what if she had? It didn’t mean anything. He was everything she didn't want or need._

Even though she was exhausted, it took her a long time to get to sleep that night.

********

The hotel was the same one he always stayed at when he was in Boston. He was a creature of habit - he liked Nine Zero, with its views and its proximity to the Common. It was more modern than a lot of the other hotels he stayed at when he was travelling, but he liked the juxtaposition of the modernity of the hotel with the old history of the city around him.

He'd settled into his room after checking in, called Cinna to confirm their 9.30am meeting with the client, then ordered room service. The steak had gone down well, the side order of clam chowder even better. He'd clicked through what felt like hundreds of mind numbing hours of television, all in the name of procrastination.

The box taunted him.

With a resolute sigh, he rose from the bed, dumped the now empty plate on the desk in the corner, and retrieved the box. He’d always remembered it as bigger, but in reality it was the same size as a shoebox, elaborately carved from mahogany and lined with velvet. It hadn't seemed like her taste, but he supposed in the end he'd never really known all of Cass - and she'd never really known all of him.

Sitting down on the bed with his legs stretched out in front of him, he placed it down on the quilt, his heart pounding out of control as he slowly lifted the lid. He still wasn't sure whether he'd be ok once it was done - but he knew he needed to. That was exactly why he hadn’t wanted to open it at home, why he'd taken it miles away. He wanted neutral territory, somewhere that wasn't his old life, somewhere that wasn't his new.

The hinge squeaked as it finally opened all the way, and the first thing he saw was the ticket stubs.

It came back to him as clear as day.

.....

_"Cassandra Mere"_

_The nameplate sat shiny and brassy on her uncluttered desk, her name staring him in the face, mocking him, teasing him._

_She'd never wanted to take his name - 3 years older than him and established in her field, she'd already built a career with her own, and he'd never had an issue with it. He'd liked the fact she was so driven, strived to be at the top of her game. And when he'd whisper in her ear at night, joking that their kids would one day be 'Merelarks' she'd laugh along with him, would kiss the tip of his nose, the hollow of his throat, down his chest, then envelope him in her mouth until he couldn't remember either of their names anyway. It had never bothered him._

_Until now._

_He raised the bottle he held to his lips, not caring that wayward amber droplets landed on his shirt as they missed his mouth. Why should he care, anyway?  Didn't matter. Nothing mattered. He had nothing to live for, right?_

_Propping his booted feet on the desk, he looked around. Nothing was out of place, everything was in order, just like he'd thought it would be, just like he'd expected. Cass had always insisted on a clean workspace, even in her home office. He'd often teased her about it as she worked on a case of an evening, until eventually she'd throw a pencil or a wadded up ball of paper at him, cursing him until she was blue in the face. But she'd always had a smile on her face as she did it, always looked at him with a look in her eye that turned his stomach to jelly. They'd almost always turned each other inside out on those nights, had barely been able to get enough of each other. He was fairly certain those were the nights they’d christened a new surface in their apartment every time._

_Shit. How had it come to this?_

_"Peeta." He looked up, saw Plutarch Heavensbee - head partner of Heavensbee, Paylor and Boggs - standing at the door, his dark hair slicked back and his rotund belly barely contained within his charcoal suit jacket._

_"What?" Peeta asked bitterly, leaning back in the chair a little more and dropping the now empty bottle to the carpeted floor. "Come to kick me out?"_

_Plutarch reached up, slightly loosened the tie around his neck. "Why are you in Cass's office in the middle of the night?"_

_"Where else am I gonna be? Huh?" Peeta lifted his chin challengingly. "At home in my 'marital' bed?"_

_Plutarch sighed. "Perhaps instead I should ask how you got up here?"_

_Peeta snorted, lifted the keycard that hung from a lanyard around his neck into the air. The movement tightened the strap against the skin at the nape, and he revelled in the twinge of pain. He welcomed it - after all, he’d felt nothing but dead inside for the last three weeks. It was nice to feel something, to bring him back to reality._

_Plutarch crossed the room, lowered himself into the seat normally reserved for clients. "I'm sorry, Peeta," he said quietly. "We're all sorry."_

_He rolled his eyes. "Fuck you. What do you know?"_

_"I know that I've had the pleasure of knowing you for almost 3 years, and I know that you're hurting. But I also know you getting wasted in her office isn't going to bring her back. She wouldn’t want to see you like this." His voice was calm, unaffected - Peeta knew he'd won court cases on the reasonable tones all on their own - but even he could sense the emotion behind it._

_The fight and the anger in Peeta dissipated like smoke. He let his feet fall to the ground, dropped his head to the desk with a thud. "What am I going to do?" He muttered desperately. "We had everything sorted and now..." He raised his head again, eyes bloodshot and suddenly sheened with tears. "And now I don't know anything."_

_"You don't have to know anything or everything," Plutarch said calmly. "But you know we'll all be here for you."_

_"No you won't," he muttered, swallowing heavily to keep the tears at bay. "Not everyone."_

_He glanced at the box that sat on the desk, and pushed it towards the older man. "I thought it was bad enough to see my wife die in front of me,” he began quietly. “I thought it was bad enough having to bury her. But this?" He looked back at the box, which he'd found in the bottom drawer of her desk. He’d just wanted to start collecting her personal belongings, that’s all. But he hadn’t expected to find this. "I can't do it. I don't want to look at it again. I don't want it."_

_Plutarch's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "I'm not sure what that is, Peeta. I've never seen it before."_

_He felt his blood boil, even while his heart panged at the same time. "Neither had I, until I found it. I don't want it and I never want to see it again. Get rid of it. Throw it away."_

_"What is it?" Plutarch cleared his throat, but didn't make a move to open it._

_"Apparently everything important to her. And I don't want it."_

_Plutarch sighed. "You'll change your mind, Peeta, I promise you. You'll want to keep her memories."_

_"No I won't," Peeta hissed, thinking of the photos, the movie ticket stubs, the little notes on familiar paper, the folded up documents inside - the fucking faded flower, of all things. No, those memories were better left where they were, in that box. How could he keep living if he was reminded of them every day? "Throw it away."_

_"I'm not going to," Plutarch said firmly. He steepled his fingers together, placed the pointer fingers under his chin. "I'll do you a deal."_

_"I'm not a client, Plutarch, and I'm not someone you're grilling, either. I don't do deals."_

_"Peeta, I promise you, in 2, 3 years time the pain will still be there, but it won't be as fresh, as harsh. You'll want to remember these things. So here's what I'm proposing. Let me speak to Chris and Andrea," he said, referring to the two other partners in the firm. "We'll keep the box for as long as you want us to, and then we'll return it to you."_

_"I won't want to look at it."_

_"Then don't. Throw it away when we give it back. But don't throw it away now and regret it later."_

_Peeta swiped a hand under his nose, considered what Plutarch was saying. Maybe he was right. Maybe, in something like 5 years he'd be okay with it all. Maybe he'd be able to deal._

_"Fine," he muttered. "5 years. In 5 years, send it to me. I'll decide what I do with it then._

_"Good," Plutarch said, and reached for the box, tucking it under his arm, before rising to his feet. "You need to go, Peeta. You can't stay in her office. And I need her pass back too."_

_Peeta pulled the lanyard from around his neck, tossed it over. "Here."_

_"Thanks. And Peeta...we are sorry. Cass was a terrific lawyer, and you always seemed so happy together. I'm sorry you didn't get more time."_

_"Me too," Peeta muttered.  He pulled himself to his feet, stalked away from her desk and her office without another word, then out of the building and out of her workplace._

_His wife was dead. She was never coming back. But he'd obviously already lost her a long time ago._

_He left New York a week later without a second thought._

.....

Closing the lid, Peeta laid back on the bed, scrubbed a hand across his face. It still hurt, even after all this time - but Plutarch had been right in telling him not to throw the box away.  He’d needed it, for closure more than anything else. There _were_ good memories in there - the notes, a photo from their wedding, the movie stub from their first date. But there were others, ones he didn’t necessarily want to be reminded of.  It was those items - the ones that showed that clearly, somewhere along the line, Cass had moved on - that broke him.

But it would be the last time he’d look at any of them.

He threw the box in a bin in the middle of downtown Boston the next day, and didn’t regret it one bit.

********

Later that night, after a day full of successful meetings, Peeta booted up his laptop, did a quick Google search, found what he wanted. The email was short, sharp and to the point.

_To:[info@crestingwavebakery.com](mailto:info@crestingwavebakery.com)_

_Subject: Work_

_Finnick, Annie, Katniss,_

_I’ll help - but I’ll bake from my house. I’ll call to discuss terms when I return._

  _Peeta_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - So...I promised some Peeta background in this chapter, and I hope it didn't disappoint. There's still more of his story to tell, but this was the part that needed to be told for now ;)
> 
> Thank you for reading, for your kudos and comments. They all absolutely make my day!
> 
> You can say hi on tumblr - I'm sponsormusings there as well - where I post snippets, fic recs and pictures of whatever else takes my fancy. :)


	7. Chapter 7

“He said yes!”

Katniss winced at the sound of Finnick’s over exuberant voice, rubbed at eyes that were still gritty with sleep. She closed the front door to the bakery behind her, blocking out the cool October dawn, and unwound the striped scarf from around her neck.

“What are you talking about?” she muttered, glaring across to him where he stood in the doorway that led to the kitchen, his hands braced against the framework. “And I have to remind you that 6am is far too frigging early to be that excited. Cool your jets, Odair.” She crossed to the counter, managed to dump her purse on the second shelf before Finnick’s hands clasped around her hips and swung her around. His green eyes were bright with excitement, and flour streaked across his cheeks like warpaint.

“It's Peeta! He emailed last night and said yes!” He drew away just as quickly, whipping his hips from side to side in time with the Beyonce tune that was blaring from the iPod in the kitchen. "I emailed him back, and he’s agreed to come by our place tonight when he gets back from Boston!”

Katniss’ eyebrows drew together, and she gripped the length of the scarf between her clenched fists. _He’d said yes? Why? What the hell had happened between Sunday afternoon and Monday night for him to change his mind so abruptly?_

“So, what, he just magically changed his mind?” she asked sharply. She knew she had to get started on working, but her feet were firmly rooted to the spot, waiting for Finnick's reply.

“Apparently,” Finnick shrugged, then grinned again. “I’ll ask him when I see him, but I’m not gonna look a gift horse in the mouth, Kat.”

“No, I suppose not,” she murmured, unclenching her hands and stretching the fingers out until some of them cracked at the knuckles. She tossed the scarf with her purse, yanked her apron from the hook and slid it over her head. “I, uh...do you want me to prep anything this morning?”

Finnick looked at her curiously before sliding onto one of the counter stools. “No, I’m under control. And we can take 5 minutes; Dylan woke us at 2am, and I couldn’t get back to sleep, so I’ve been here since about 3.30 - we’re ahead of schedule.” He rested his elbows on the counter, dropped his chin into his hands. “What’s the deal? You don’t seem very excited.”

Katniss shrugged, pulled open the drawer that contained their preferred blend of coffee beans, tearing open one of the packets and spilling the contents into the grinder. “It’s fine, Finnick. We needed the help, I asked him, and now he’s said yes. It’s what you wanted.”

His eyes narrowed as he studied her, then cleared as realisation dawned. “You always expected him to say no, didn’t you? That’s why you agreed to asking him, why you didn’t really argue with us. You thought he’d say no.”

“Well he did,” she retorted smartly, then sighed. She dropped the now empty bag into the bin, turned back to face Finnick. “You’re right, I thought he’d say no. Everything pointed to it. But…”

“But what?”

“I was wrong,” she said simply. She busied herself, wiping the counter down of the coffee dust that had settled from when she’d emptied the bag.

Finnick cleared his throat. "So other than you being wrong...are you ok with this?"

Katniss tipped her head to the side. "What kind of friend would I be if I wasn't? This is good for you and Annie, therefore it's good for me."

"As long as you're sure," he reiterated.

"Finn, I'm fine!" She forced a laugh, pointed a finger in the direction of the kitchen. "Get out there and bake shit. I'll be out in five to get the first trays, alright? I’ll flip the open sign in fifteen."

Finnick's lips quirked, and then he nodded, pushing through the kitchen door just in time to belt out _'Backstreets back, alright!'._

Damn, she worried about his musical tastes sometimes.

Turning to flip on the coffee grinder, she slid open the display case doors, ready for the trays she'd cart through from the kitchen. She hadn't lied, exactly, when she'd said what was good for the Odairs was good for her. But...the idea of working with Peeta bothered her. A lot. She'd come to Quarter Mile Bay to destress, to live a simpler life, not to have a stomach tied up in knots over a guy who hid up in a house on a hill and had a temperament to rival hers.

He represented everything she'd always told herself didn't appeal to her. He intrigued her, despite his utter rudeness. He interested her, even while he made it clear he didn’t care about any of them. And while she hadn’t admitted to Annie that she’d pictured him naked…

_Well, she totally had._

Katniss had to admit that his agreeing to help at the bakery had thrown her for loop, had her thinking that her assessment of him after she'd watched him bake cinnamon buns was more on the mark than she'd originally thought. People generally didn't agree to help out virtual strangers if they didn't give a shit about anything.

It still didn’t change the fact she wasn’t entirely sold on having to work with him.

_It won't be long,_ she reminded herself, then headed for the kitchen to pick up a tray of eclairs. _Just til the Odairs sort themselves out._

********

Peeta pulled up at the curb, switched off the ignition, then stared out the windscreen at the darkened road in front of him.

_What the fuck was he doing?_

Boston had, undoubtedly, been a success. He and Cinna had impressed the client so much there were already tentative discussions about them working on the client’s own condo in Florida, and maybe another spa facility in DC. He’d gone through _the_ box, sorted through the memories and then thrown it away with no regret. And at first he’d thought that _this_ was part of the feeling of success.

Now, he wasn’t so sure, the niggle of doubt in his mind as to whether this was the right thing for him right now growing with every minute.

Pushing open the car door and climbing out before he changed his mind, he slammed it shut behind him, began to stalk up the path lined with purple petunias and pale pink snapdragons that led to the Odair’s front door. It opened before he even had the opportunity to knock.

Annie Odair stood there, her face serene and calm, her arms full of a baby swathed in a blue blanket. “I thought I heard a car,” she said softly with a smile as he took the final couple of steps up to the porch.

“I decided not to walk,” he shrugged, feeling decidedly awkward and uncomfortable and... _had he already thought awkward? Because he felt really damned awkward standing in front of this woman who was blatantly sizing him up while the baby in her arms stared at him with unblinking eyes._

She nodded, stepped to the side so he could walk in. “Well, welcome, Peeta. We’ve never officially met, but I’m Annie, and this is Dylan.” She looked down at the baby and cooed, but his attention was still firmly on Peeta. He felt like he was being judged by a newborn.

“Peeta,” he replied with a shrug. “But you already know that.”

“I do,” she smiled. “And I’ll start by saying we couldn’t be more grateful for you coming here tonight.” She closed the door behind him, guided him down the hall towards the kitchen, where lights blazed and Finnick stood at the stovetop, stirring something slowly. “Can I get you a drink or anything first?”

"Uhh.."

"A beer? Hot chocolate?" Finnick piped up, tossing a glance over his shoulder.

"No, no I'm good. Maybe just some water."

Annie nodded, gestured a hand towards a seat at their kitchen table and moved to the big double door refrigerator. While they were both otherwise occupied, Peeta sat and studied the Odairs’ kitchen with the eye of someone who had practically grown up in one. _Double oven. 8 burner stove, both top grade. Fancy pants food processor. One of those Nutri-bullet things that people seemed to love. More herbs and spices than he'd possibly seen in his lifetime. Plenty of cupboard space and countertops. Looked like good, strong granite, too. Stain resistant. Non-slip tiles._

It looked like they took as much care of this kitchen as they did the one at the bakery.

Annie slid into the chair opposite him, placed the water on the table with a smile. Her arms were empty.

"Where's..." he trailed off, looked pointedly at her arms.

"I put him in the crib in the next room for a bit while you were scoping out our kitchen," she replied wryly.

If Peeta had been anyone else, he probably would have blushed. Instead, he just shrugged. "It's a good kitchen," he said simply.

“We designed it ourselves, with the help of an architect in Portland,” Annie said proudly. “We both like to cook, so it made sense.”

Peeta nodded, unsure what else to say. _Ok. Cinna had been 100% honest with him when he’d told him he had no idea how to communicate anymore._

The clanging of a pot being tossed into a sink drew his attention, and he watched as Finnick bounded across the kitchen towards them. "Alright, let’s get down to business," Finnick started, taking the chair at the head of the table and raising his mug to his lips, swallowing deeply before continuing. "First things first - where the _hell_ did you learn to make those cinnamon buns?"

Peeta leant back in his chair, rested the side of his right foot on his left knee. "My father. Parents owned a bakery in upstate New York. Worked there part time in high school."

Finnick nodded. "Because, man, they were the _shit_. You didn't want to have a career in that?"

Peeta shook his head once. "No."

He didn’t offer anything more.

The silence that ensued was uncomfortable, until Annie cleared her throat. "Ok. Well. I guess...Firstly, thanks. For saying yes. But I figured we needed to meet to discuss logistics before it went any further."

Peeta nodded, let her take the lead. She discussed pay rates, hours, how long they thought they'd need him for. She told him what items they normally carried, confirmed he could add a few things if inspired.

Then came the first hitch.

"So, uh, Peeta, I know you said you wanted to work from home. But with health and safety and business regulations...well, there’s no way around it. If we go ahead with this, you'll have to bake on premises."

He felt his heart thud dully. "On premises," Peeta echoed.

"Yes."

His nose wrinkled. "What if I don't want to?"

Annie shrugged. "Then this conversation is pointless." She reached a hand up, twisted a lock of long brown hair around her finger. "We know you're doing us a favour, so if this is a dealbreaker, that's ok. I mean, we know you're..." She trailed off, glanced over at Finnick.

"I'm what?" Peeta asked, reigning in his immediate instinct to snap his question.

"Let's be honest. You've lived here for years and we've seen more of you in the last 3 months than we have in that whole entire time. You're a bit of a hermit, dude," Finnick said bluntly.

_Dude. He didn't think he'd been called that since high school._

"What Finnick is trying to say," Annie interjected, throwing a warning glance at her husband. "Is that coming into town doesn't seem to be your favourite thing to do. So if you don't want to work from the bakery, we'll forget we ever talked about this."

Peeta firmed his lips together. Everything inside him was saying no, to get out of here, to do exactly as Annie suggested and forget all about the conversation.

But the voices of his father, of Haymitch and Cinna warred vehemently with his instincts. So when he muttered his response, he didn't know whether it was progress or just giving in.

“Fine, I’ll do it. But I don’t want to have to serve people.”

“Not at all,” Annie agreed. “This is simply to help us in the kitchen, especially for early starts during the week. Katniss runs the floor without a problem, and we have one of the high schoolers coming in after school and on weekends to help out. You won’t have to interact with anyone you don’t want to.”

“Good.” He looked at both of them and shrugged. “I guess that’s it?”

“That’s it,” Finnick confirmed. “Just remember to drop by the bakery tomorrow night after closing, I can show you around. Then, Thursday 4am, I’ll let you in, stick around until Katniss arrives.”

Peeta winced at the start time, and the memory of plenty of high school days starting the same way, but nodded before rising to his feet. Annie and Finnick followed suit, walking down the hall until they were at the front door.

“Thanks again,” Annie told him, and he smiled through thin lips in response before stepping out to the porch and onto the path.

“Oh, by the way,” Finnick called casually, waiting until Peeta turned back to look at him before continuing. His green eyes shone with what Peeta would have deemed amusement, but at what, he had no idea. “What made you change your mind? Katniss told us you were pretty firm in your no.”

Peeta’s jaw tensed, and he shoved a hand in his pocket. “People change their minds all the time. Just figured I’d change mine.”

Finnick grinned. “Well I can’t argue with that.”

“No,” Peeta agreed, and walked away.

He still had a long way to go - a _long_ way. But tonight had been a step nonetheless.

********

Katniss had hardly slept. She’d tossed and turned, stared at the ceiling, scoffed a leftover danish from her pantry at 1am. She’d re-organised her closet, though with her simple array of t-shirts and jeans, it hadn’t really taken too long. She’d written another email to Prim, long and full of descriptions of Dylan and ruminations on Peeta. If Prim had actually read it, she would have teased Katniss mercilessly over her whining. _“Sleepless over a boy, Katniss? That’s so adorable.”_

Adorable it wasn’t. Annoying as hell? _Yes._

She’d gone to bed knowing Finnick had shown Peeta the ropes of the bakery after she’d left for the day, and that when she showed up to work in the morning, they’d both be there. It felt like a huge change, one she wasn’t entirely in control about, one she still held reservations for.

Hence the lack of sleep.

She stared blindly at the clock as it ticked over to 5am, and she resigned herself to the fact that she was going to be up for the rest of the day - with an alarm set for 5.30, there was no point in trying to sleep now. Instead, she dragged on her running gear and her ratty shoes, and headed for the beach.

It was cold, only the seagulls around to keep her company and the crashing waves the only sound. She hadn’t seen Peeta run at this time of the day since they’d literally bumped into each other, and she wondered whether he’d ‘given’ her the time, in the aid of avoiding her.

_Whatever. She preferred running alone anyway_.

She ran until her calves burned, until sweat pearled along her forehead and on her stomach, just under her breasts where her shirt stuck to her skin. Bending over with her hands on her knees, she sucked in a breath, then stretched out her legs. As always, the run had done exactly what she’d needed it to do - the sheer exertion of energy had given her a boost, a bit of drive. She straightened, nodded to herself, jogged up and down on the spot for a little bit. _It was good_. _She could do thi_ s _. It was all gonna be ok_.

While she was still motivated, she ran home, changed and headed to the bakery.

********

The shopfront was dark, but she could see the circle of light beaming through from the kitchen as she unlocked the front door, stepped inside. There was no music going like there normally was when Finnick opened, no lilting singing from Annie when she had the early shift. There was just...nothing, except for the faint clatter and banging of pots and pans. Which was odd. Whether Finnick was alone or not, he _always_ had his iPod docked and was normally belting out whatever peppy song he was vibing that morning.

She hoped he and Peeta hadn’t killed each other.

Katniss closed the door and flipped the lock, then crept up to the porthole in the kitchen door; peering through, the first thing she saw was Peeta. His back was to her, and she couldn't help but admire the jeans that hugged all the right places, and the plain black Henley that was covered by Annie’s apron, the long white trails of the tie hanging down to the backs of his thighs. She glanced around the rest of the kitchen, and couldn’t see a single sign of Finnick.

_Great. Obviously Peeta had won, and she was here, alone, with a moody axe-murderer who just happened to have a great ass._

She turned, dumped her belongings on the shelf, and contemplated picking up the pointy docket stick they shoved credit card slips on as a weapon, before rolling her eyes at herself. Instead, she took a deep breath and pushed through to the kitchen. He turned his head slightly to face her, his blue eyes piercing and alert, even for this time of the morning.

“Hello Katniss,” he said. _No inflection. No nothing_.

“Hello Peeta,” she echoed. “Where’s Finnick? I thought he was going to be here.”

“Annie called about half an hour ago. Apparently there was lots of poo and screaming and things I don’t need to know about.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

And then silence.

_Well. This was going to be fun._

Peeta continued to work, his actions smooth and practiced, just like the last time Katniss had watched him in the kitchen. But while his actions were smooth, the tension in the room was anything but - instead it was thick and heady and potent. She folded her arms across her chest, firmed her lips in a straight line, and leant back against the counter.

"So it looks like we’re working together," she finally said. _Enough of this standing in awkward silence bullshit_.

"Seems like it," Peeta replied blithely, not taking his eyes off the batter-filled bowl on the counter in front of him as he continued to stir the mixture by hand. "But just until they’ve got themselves sorted. Then I’m out."

"I wouldn’t have expected otherwise," she said smartly. "I’m still surprised you said yes. I’d jotted you down as a resounding and emphatic no."

She could see the way his eyebrow raised, even though he didn’t bother to lift his head. “I guess I just like doing the unexpected.”

“So it seems.”

Katniss glanced down at her watch - they still had a good ten minutes before she had to start preparing the front - then crossed the kitchen until she was standing on the opposite side of the stainless steel bench to Peeta. She didn’t say anything, just simply watched him. _Stir, fold, test. A little more of a drizzle of melted butter. Stir, fold, test. A dash of cinnamon._

_“_ You just gonna stand there?” he finally muttered, glancing up at her. She was close enough to see the smattering of pale freckles that danced across his nose.

“I'm just watching.”

“Obviously. Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Probably,” she shrugged. “But if Finnick’s not here, I gotta make sure you don’t burn the place down, right?”

Peeta snorted, moved away to test the temperature on the oven. “Right. Because that’s exactly what I did last time I was here.”

Katniss scoffed. “We had no say in that. You just barged on in-”

“Annie let me,” he countered, tossing her a glare over his shoulder. “I might have started it, but she still agreed to it. And the kitchen remained in once piece afterwards.”

She rolled her eyes. “Anyway. Is there anything not on our usual list that you're making that I should add to the board out the front?”

He opened the oven, slid the muffins out that were plump and golden and smelling of apples. “There’ll be some cheese buns on the savoury side of things."

"Alright then. Anything else?"

"I’m going to make up a Nutella banana bread once I'm finished with that over there.” He tipped his head towards the bowl he'd been mixing, then dumped the fresh muffins onto the cooling rack.

Katniss’ mouth dropped open, even while it watered. “Did you...did you just say _Nutella banana bread_?”

“Yeah,” he replied, tossing the now empty tray onto the counter. He didn't bother to look at her as he moved to close the oven again. “Is there a problem with that? They gave me free reign, so I’m taking it.”

“No...no problem,” Katniss replied. She took a step backwards. “I’m just gonna...go put the coffee on.”

“Good.”

“Good.” She pushed through the swinging door, headed for the coffee drawer.

He was going to make Nutella banana bread. Maybe those cinnamon buns. And cheese buns. Hell, if they were anything like the cinnamon ones, they would be amazing.

She closed her eyes, already practically tasting the food on the tip of her tongue. She would want to eat it all.

_This was going to be bad._

********

If Peeta was surprised that there were kids out there that were intent enough on getting as much candy as they could eat that they’d drive up the hill with their parents and traverse his wreck of a driveway, he shouldn’t have been. They’d done it every other year since he’d moved to Quarter Mile Bay; this year wouldn’t be any different. But seeing them traipse up, bang on his door noisily before leaving again empty handed annoyed the hell out of him this year.

It pissed him off enough that he’d already holed himself up on the third floor, in the room furthest from the front door and the continued knocking. He’d dragged in a table, spread paper and pencils across it, had The Killers blaring to block out the noise, and had immersed himself in sketching the late afternoon sun as it set over the water. It was hitting the glass around the top of the lighthouse in a way he couldn’t deem any better than perfect; and so he drew his frustrations away.

His first two days in the bakery had tested his patience to the end of his limits, and was 1000% done with human contact for the next few days.

He hadn’t interacted with that many people in such a condensed amount of time in months - maybe years. Even though he had only agreed to work 6 hours of a morning, 3 days a week, and he didn’t have to go into the actual shopfront at all, the sheer amount of interaction he’d had in those 12 hours he’d worked already had him completely spent.

Haymitch had stuck his head in on that first morning, told him _“this is the funniest shit I’ve ever seen, boy”_ , before smirking and hot-footing it back out the door. Some blonde woman who smiled more than anyone else he’d ever met had walked straight through the swinging door, shook his hand and announced that him helping the Odairs out was the sweetest thing she’d heard. And he’d had to literally chase a woman - _Effie Trinket, he’d learned, though he’d secretly always thought of her as Trendy McLabel-lover from the few glimpses he’d caught of her around town_ \- out of the kitchen after she’d grilled him on where he’d come from, who his parents were, what college did he go to, what brand of shampoo did he use because his hair positively gleamed?

He’d seen Katniss through the porthole in the door, trying dismally to hide her laughter, and he’d glared at her until she’d slunk out of sight.

Peeta got it, he really did. He’d been something mysterious ( _although that was hardly the case_ ) for so long, and now he was here in close proximity and they wanted to know him. It was the standard small town mindset.

He just preferred it when he was out of the line of fire, in his house away from it all.

But he had to admit, that if one good thing had come out of it, it was baking again. Getting his hands in the dough, watching the cakes rise, piping out flowers on little cupcakes. He’d missed it.

It had been too hard at first, after Cass had died. Baking had always been one of the things he’d done for fun, for pleasure, for relaxing - it reminded him of good times with his Dad, or flour fights with Aaran, of creating something new. But after they'd married - hell, even while they’d still been dating – it had become something he’d done for her. Saturday and Sunday mornings he'd always baked, something sweet or savoury, ready for when Cass would drag herself out of bed. Then they’d eat and read the paper or take them to-go and head to Central Park, lie on the grass and do…nothing.

But the sheer joy he’d felt from baking fell from the wayside after she’d gone.

Dropping his pencil to the desk and pushing himself away from it, he ran a hand through his hair, realised his throat was parched, and that he hadn’t eaten anything since lunchtime. Turning the stereo up so he’d still be able to hear it downstairs, he jogged down them quickly, grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and moved out onto the deck while he contemplated what he wanted to cook, or whether a sandwich would suffice. He leant against the balustrade, thirstily gulped the water down. And then he saw her.

She wasn't home either, wasn't home to drop candy into the plastic jack o'lanterns kids were carting about. Instead, she was slowly walking along the beach, hands shoved in the pockets of the grey hoodie she wore, her eyes firmly on the sand on front of her. Her walk was slow, measured - occasionally a toe would dig into the sand and the grains would arc into the sky as she flicked them up with her shoe. Her dark hair curled loose over her shoulder through the neckline of the hood, the ends teasing the corner of her elbow. And he sighed.

_Fuck, she was hot. Even walking on a beach in possibly the daggiest sweatpants he'd ever seen._

As though she'd felt his gaze on her, Katniss looked up, and even with the distance, their eyes locked. He lifted his hand in an almost reluctant gesture of hello; it took her a moment before she returned it. And he wondered if he’d survive the next month in the bakery.

None of those other townspeople had anything on Katniss Everdeen. If anyone was going to make him lose his mind, it was going to be her.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this chapter; I hope you enjoy! I know we're on slow burn here, but with the bakery now officially in play, Everlark will begin to have a lot more interactions ;)
> 
> Thank you for reading, for your kudos and comments. They always make my day!
> 
> (For the record, I was more than a little bit of a BSB fan in high school. Alas, I don't really think they're Katniss' bag ;) )


	8. Chapter 8

If she believed in fairy tales, she would have thought she was in one. A gender-swap one, but a fairy tale, no less. He stood up at his house of wood and glass on top of the cliffs, the setting sun hitting the windows and shooting sparks of light out across his deck. His prince-perfect blond hair was blowing gently in the breeze, his broad shoulders looked strong and imposing, and the look on his face was one of deep contemplation.

Yep, Peeta Mellark looked like a modern day male version of Rapunzel.

And then he broke the image when he waved at her.

It was nothing more than a faint curling of fingers lifted up into the air, but it was a wave nonetheless. It took her a moment to realise she should return it, and she raised her hand slightly, before she looked back down to the sand and kept walking.

She couldn’t look at him when _those_ feelings coursed through her. Especially not today.

Katniss continued around the beach, past the cliff face, and out of his line of sight; she couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief when she could no longer feel his eyes searing into her. She’d wanted to be alone today, hadn't wanted to really interact with anyone. She’d had to at work, of course, but she’d kept it limited, and the customers had been able to sense her mood - none tried to engage her as they normally may have, and she’d been thankful for it. But then she’d gotten home, and all she’d heard had been the shouts and laughter of early trick or treaters out on the streets; sisters squealing together, friends squabbling over Reese's pieces and parents exasperatedly but lovingly telling their kids to slow it on down.

She hadn't been able to listen to it, so she’d tugged on her oldest hoodie and headed for the beach.

Halloween was still too hard for her. All the holidays were, really, knowing she’d never get to celebrate them with her mother or Prim again. So she much preferred to keep to herself on days like this, where families had fun and celebrated and spent time together, and ate food til they were fit to burst. Finnick and Annie had offered for her to join them for dinner; they’d understood when she’d quietly said no.

But she hadn’t expected Peeta Mellark to be out on his back deck, though. And hadn’t been prepared for the short, sharp pulse that shot through her.  

Although she should by now. It happened almost every time she saw him.

With a final scuff of her shoe against the sand, she turned her walk into a jog, and headed home. If she holed herself up in her bathroom, in water as hot as her body could take it and with the biggest glass of wine known to man, she wouldn’t be able to hear the laughter from the streets - and she’d be miles away from Peeta.

********

“You what?”

Peeta could hear the incredulity down the phone line, and he dropped his head back against the intricate wooden headboard of his bed. Papers were spread across the thick quilt and his black-rimmed glasses - that he only ever wore when he was tired and was already past the point he knew he should stop working - had been discarded on top of them.

“I’m helping out at the bakery you went to,” he repeated, and waited for Cinna to speak.

“Peeta,” the voice in return was slow, measured, carefully modulated. “Have you decided you’re not going to be an architect anymore, and somehow neglected to tell me?”

Peeta laughed quietly. “No, it’s nothing like that, I promise. Just before I left for Boston...” He went through what had happened over the last week - Katniss’ offer, his meeting with Finnick and Annie, his first couple of days at the bakery. Cinna listened patiently, only asked the occasional question as he explained. “And it won’t get in the way of my current projects,” Peeta assured him as he finished. “That’s the beauty of working from home - I can work whenever I want to.”

“As long as you don’t burn yourself out,” Cinna warned, then sighed. “Peeta, as much as you probably don’t want to hear this, I...I have to admit that I’m proud of you.”

“What?” Peeta’s brow crinkled in confusion.

“I know how hard it’s been for you to do things that you shared with Cass since she died. So I’m proud of you for taking this step.”

Peeta reached up, rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. He knew it was a nervous habit, one he had tried and failed to break. “Well, it was really you and Dad and Haymitch - that retired judge who reams me out more than you do - who kind of gave me the drive to do it. You’ve all been telling me that it’s basically time to get my ass in gear. And I figured I'd never hear the end of it if I didn't.”

“And you're right on both accounts,” Cinna confirmed. “But…”

“But?”

Cinna cleared his throat. “Does this have anything to do with the girl in the bakery - Katniss?”

“No,” Peeta said, firmly and quickly. _Too_ firmly, _too_ quickly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I just realise now that I do have to move on.” He knew his friend, knew Cinna would likely be sitting in his study, his legs propped up on his desk as he looked out the window onto the street below. Knew the look he’d likely have on his face. His ‘ _Are you sure, Peeta?’_ look, one he'd perfected over the years they’d known each other.

“Alright then,” Cinna finally said. “Meanwhile, have you put any more thought into my offer of the project in New York?”

Peeta swallowed heavily. “No.”

Cinna sighed. “I think you should, Peet. It’s an amazing opportunity, and I want you on board.”

“I know. But...baby steps, Cinna, geez.”

“What about ‘all in’? Throwing caution into the wind? Go hard or go home?”

“How about you just say hi to that wife of yours and those two little girls, and leave me in peace, smartass?”

Cinna laughed. “Good night, Peeta. Happy Halloween.”

“Good night Cinna.”

********

It didn’t take more than that first week for them to fall into a routine. By Peeta’s fourth shift, they’d worked out their morning schedule - Katniss said a grumpy hello when she arrived, he’d tell her with little inflection what non-standard items he’d be adding to the menu that day, she’d bring him a coffee at exactly 6:45. 7am, he’d tell her what she should try of his own recipes, and by 7.30, she’d have already scoffed down two of whatever it was in the name of ‘research’. She’d find herself occasionally watching him work through the door porthole, at the way his muscles would shift and contract as he pulled the trays from the oven. The few times he’d caught her, they’d stared at each other unflinchingly until one of them finally backed down. Most times, it was Katniss, the heat of his gaze making her flustered enough to forget to scowl at him as she turned away.

By 10.30am, he’d be gone after a quick chat with Finnick, with a barely audible ‘goodbye’ to her as he pushed through the front door. Then the next shift would come and they’d start all over again.

Sometimes they’d talk, sometimes they wouldn’t. Sometimes she’d catch him humming as he frosted a cupcake, only for him to immediately close his mouth as she swung through the door. Sometimes she’d hear him crack a joke to Finnick, and although it was completely based in sarcasm, she’d found herself grinning at the fact that there was a very sharp sense of humour there.

He’d surprised her, only the once, as she’d been concentrating on updating the menu board, singing softly to herself under her breath. The look on his face as she’d finally glanced up to see him staring at her from the open kitchen doorway had been enough for her to stop. She hadn’t sung around him again.

She figured it was probably better that way.

By shift seven, they'd had their first fight, though on reflection, Katniss wasn't even sure how it had started. All she knew was that she'd walked out of the kitchen with her cheeks pink in anger and a dull ache between her legs. Seeing him all riled up over... _had it been freaking profiterole filling?_ \- had turned her on more than it should have. But, she had to admit, it had thankfully broken the tension that had been permeating the air at the bakery since he’d started.

Now, on shift number nine, Katniss wondered as she absently wiped the countertop down how much longer Finnick and Annie were thinking of keeping him on. Three weeks had already flown by - was he going to stick around for another month? Another two? It definitely helped, especially for days like today, when Finnick had wanted to take the afternoon off to take Annie and Dylan to the hospital for their son’s first check up, and they’d asked Peeta to do a split shift. Even though they often didn't bake much past midday, they still liked to have someone there just in case. Would they ask Peeta to be their 'just in case' in the future, when this gig was done and dusted? Would he even want to, with his own career already established?

“Katniss! Katniss! Oh my _God_ , Katniss!” Effie practically tumbled through the door, bringing a welcome break to Katniss’ train of thought. She tottered in on fuschia heels that weren’t made for the cracked sidewalk outside - or for the town in general, really. Quarter Mile Bay didn’t correlate well with 6 inch Mario Blotniks or whatever the hell Effie had told Katniss they were called when she’d first bought them months ago.

“Effie, are you ok?” She asked, concerned. The woman might drive her mad, but it didn’t mean she was completely heartless when she came running in with terror in her eyes. "What's wrong?"

Effie lifted a hand to her hair dramatically. "Oh, dear, I can't even _begin_ to tell you. One of my clients - a very _famous_ one, I can't possibly tell you who - has decided they don't want me to go to _them_ for our meeting. Instead, they're coming to meet with me here, at my home, to discuss a potential movie offer. Tomorrow! I'm not prepared for this!" The woman's voice ended on a wail, and Katniss raised an eyebrow. _This_ is what had led Effie in here in a flutter?

"Is that all? I mean...you know this...person, right? If they're your client, why is it such a big deal?"

Effie rested a hand on her heart, as though in shock. "Katniss, I don't just serve _any_ old refreshments to Jo- to my clients. I am known for my excellent hospitality, and I refuse to provide a sub-par afternoon tea. Honestly, I haven’t retained the client list I have by being _shoddy_. Hollywood even stretches to here, you know." Offended out of her anxiousness by Katniss' obliviousness to how things 'worked', she tsked loudly, and her usual air of confidence returned. "Now, I'll need Annie to bake-"

"Nope," Katniss interrupted. "Annie isn’t working at the moment. You know we're making her take a break."

"But Katniss-"

"No," she replied firmly.

Effie huffed. "Well what about that other boy you have working here? Peter, isn’t it?"

Katniss rolled her eyes. "It's Peeta; he's not a boy, he's a grown man, and no. He's-"

"I can do it." His lazy voice called out from behind her, and she couldn't help the way her teeth clenched. It was his job to stay out the back - hadn’t it been _his_ biggest stipulation that he not have to serve people? Katniss turned to face him, to see whether he was mocking her or making fun of Effie. It didn't look like it was either of the above, and his face revealed nothing more when she mouthed _'what the fuck?'_ at him. He just shrugged, turned his gaze to Effie. "I can make you a crème brulee cake with caramel shards."

"Oh." Effie blinked. "Well actually, I was thinking-"

"You need it tomorrow?" Peeta interrupted. Effie nodded. "Then the best I can offer you on short notice is that cake. I'm certain whoever it is that's visiting you will like it. Do they have any diet issues?"

Katniss watched as Effie crossed the shop floor until she stood at the edge of the counter, hands moving quickly as she discussed terms with Peeta.

_What the hell was he doing?_

His customer service was shoddy at best. His body language - with his arms folded across his chest - was deplorable. He only looked partially interested in what Effie was saying, but she kept on talking anyway.

Finally after ten minutes, Effie pranced - Katniss really couldn't think of any other way to put it - out the door, and she whirled on Peeta. He hadn't moved, only shifted his eyes to look at her. "What was that?" She demanded. “I thought you didn’t want to serve people.”

"I don’t," he retorted. "But she wanted a cake, and last time I checked, this was a bakery. Who else was going to make it?”

"Finnick," she replied.

"Well he's not working this afternoon, I am," Peeta snapped. He turned on his heel, pushed back through to the kitchen.

He was gone before she could say anything else. Sometimes she wondered if they did nothing but take one step forward and two steps back.

********

He still wasn’t sure what had prompted him to offer to make the cake for the woman. He was about 100% certain he’d regretted it the minute the words had come out of his mouth, but by then it was too late, and she was already hyped up on goofballs in excitement. And he’d known he’d unfairly snapped at Katniss afterwards when she’d questioned him, but half the time he couldn’t help it. Anything to keep her at arm’s length, really.

He’d gone home for a nap and lunch, and to complete a first draft sketch of a new apartment complex building in Philly. He'd headed back to the bakery at 2.30, and it didn’t really bother him to be there, if he was being honest. It was probably better than holing himself up in the house while he considered Cinna’s offer, which was what he’d have been doing otherwise. Instead, focusing on the baking process and preparing to watch a cake come together was kind of therapeutic. And far, far better than thinking about project offers.

Technically, the cake was simple - vanilla bean pastry cream with a basic vanilla batter for the cake itself. It was the light, sweet caramel buttercream separating the layers and frosted liberally over the top that took it to the next level. It was one of his dad’s favourites, one he’d asked for often since the first time Peeta had made it.

Effie Trinket’s client was going to love it, and if they didn’t, then screw them; they obviously had shitty taste. It wasn’t even like this was his real job anyway. He was Peeta Mellark, architect.

And he was scared of returning to New York.

Even through his own thoughts he could hear murmurs in the front of the store, and knew Katniss either had a customer, or the after school help had arrived. And then he heard a name he wasn’t expecting.

His head flew up in shock, turned to face the door.

_What the hell was Cinna doing here? Was he checking up on him?_

He straightened, dropped the wooden spoon in his hand onto the counter, and crossed to the kitchen door. He looked out curiously, but didn’t see Cinna - or anyone else - around. He shook his head, realised he must have been hearing things, probably because of his own thoughts about possibly going back to the city. And then a face popped up in the porthole - mocha skin, big, smiling brown eyes, and a halo of corkscrew curls.

“Holy shit!” Peeta hissed in surprise, stumbling back before the door could open in on him. The girl practically bounced on through.

“Hi!” she greeted, tossing a bright orange backpack onto the counter. Her smile lit up her whole face. “I’m Rue, you must be Peeta.”

His eyes widened and he swallowed heavily at the sight of a girl whose name was Rue, had the same hair as Portia - but was at least 8 years older than the little girl he knew. _What the hell?_ “Uh, yeah,” he muttered, turning back to the cake, even while his stomach churned. “I, uh, guess you’re here to help Katniss.”

“Yep!” She nodded her head enthusiastically, grabbing an elastic from around her wrist and tying her hair back. “Your items have been flying off the shelf the last couple of weeks - I love those cinnamon buns!”

“I know you do,” he replied without thinking, then winced. _No, Peeta. The other Rue does_. He turned around to her, to see her looking at him in confusion. “Sorry, not you. I have a...a friend’s daughter is called Rue as well. Her mom has hair like yours and I just...got you confused for a moment.” He leant back against the counter, folded his arms across his chest. “You don’t happen to have any family down in New York, do you?”

“Me?” she shook her head. “No, not that I know of. Most of my family originally came from the South; my parents moved here the year they got married for my Dad's work.”

“Oh. It’s just...Rue isn’t a very common name.”

“In some places it is,” she grinned. “Maybe your friends are originally from down South.”

Peeta nodded, already knowing that Portia had been born and raised in New Orleans. “Just a coincidence, then.”

“Yep!” She glanced over her shoulder, back towards the shop front. “Ok, well I’m gonna go give Katniss a reprieve out the front, ‘kay?”

He nodded again, his eyes following her as she went back out. Then he slumped down onto one of the counter stools they kept in the kitchen, dropped his head in his hands. What were the odds of a girl with the same name as his closest friends’ daughter, with the same wild hair as the daughter’s mom, walking into the bakery the very moment he’d been thinking of Cinna’s offer?

Not very high at all. If he believed in signs and all that shit, he’d probably think it was one.

“What was that all about?” He looked up to see Katniss standing a few feet in front of him, her eyebrow raised. He hadn’t even heard her come in, her tread light and almost non-existent.

“Nothing,” he muttered.

“Rue came out and said you acted kinda weird.”

“It’s _nothing_ ,” he reiterated firmly, pulling himself to his feet. Katniss folded her arms across her chest.

“It doesn’t look like nothing. What’s going on?”

Peeta clenched his jaw, refused to look back at her as he began to mix the cake batter again. “I don’t have to tell you shit.”

“You do while you’re working here,” she replied. "Especially if it affects the other employees. While Finnick and Annie aren't here, I need to make sure things are ok."

His tongue poked out the side of his mouth as he concentrated. Not that he needed to concentrate on what he was doing – it was more concentrating on not blowing his lid at her. “It’s not important,” he muttered, when it was clear she wasn’t budging.

She shook her head, pulled up his discarded stool, and waited, chin upturned stubbornly.

“Fine,” Peeta finally snapped, moving the bowl out of reach, his hands slapping down on the counter. “She just...her name is Rue.”

“So what?”

“Cinna. You remember Cinna, right? The guy who came in a month or so ago?”

“Yeah.”

He sighed, felt the muscle in his cheek twitch. “His daughter. Her name is Rue. And Rue out there has hair just like Cinna’s wife. It just...threw me off.”

“Big deal.”

Peeta scoffed, looked up at her. “You have empathy in spades, don’t you?”

“When it’s deserved I do. You’re still not telling me why it’s so bothersome or…whatever.”

He ran his tongue across his top teeth. “I was thinking about my work, about an offer Cinna made me, when she came in. And to hear that name, at the moment that I was thinking about...that stuff, it just threw me a little, that’s all.”

Katniss nodded her head once. “What kind of offer did he make you?” she asked.

Peeta stared at her, dumbfounded. He honestly didn’t understand how this woman could infuriate him so much on one hand, frustrate him on the other – and completely and utterly have him thinking inappropriate thoughts about her regardless of the situation. “What, are you Oprah all of a sudden? Don’t you have a shopfront to watch over?”

“Rue’s capable of handling it all for 15 minutes,” she replied with a flippant toss of her hand. “I know jack crap about you, Peeta, and we’ve been working together for close to a month. I just asked a simple question, not your life history.”

He pursed his lips before shrugging and turning back to the bowl again. “You know by now I’m an architect,” he began with a sigh.  “I used to work at a firm in New York with Cinna, then started working from home for him when I moved up here. Cinna has asked me to work on a project back in the City and I don’t know if I want to. Hence me thinking about it. End of story.”

“Why wouldn’t you want to? Work back in New York, I mean.”

“Because I just don’t. New York…isn’t my favourite place.”

“I’ve always thought it was alright.”

“Have you lived there?”

“No.”

“Then there you go.”

She didn’t say anything more after that, but he could still feel her eyes on him. Just like when he’d feel her eyes on him through the kitchen porthole. Except this time he didn’t - _couldn’t_ \- look up at her.

Eventually she slid off the stool, went back into the store front, and left him to his thoughts. Full of _her_ and full of work.

So much for not thinking about the offer.

********

It wasn’t a surprise at all the next day to hear that Effie, and her client, loved the cake.

Katniss listened as the woman raved about Peeta’s talent as they stood outside Sae’s, her voice loud and boisterous. In terms of sales, and word of mouth, Katniss was excited. Hell, if the cake was half as good as the rest of his stuff, they could possibly end up getting more requests for cakes on demand. And more requests equalled more sales. But right now, exhaustion was winning over excitement - she just wanted to go home, heat up a can of soup and stare into the little fireplace in her lounge room until she fell asleep.

It had been a long week, and she couldn’t even be bothered going out for her regular Friday night drink at The Hob. Nope, tonight she just wanted to spend it at home.

And the can of soup was burning a hole in her bag while Effie continued on.

“And my goodness, the cream, Katniss! So light and fluffy. I told myself it was so light it couldn’t _possibly_ have any calories, so I just went ahead and ate another piece after he left!”

“I don’t think that’s how it works, Effie,” Katniss said wryly, watching as the door behind them slid open, and catching Haymitch’s eye as he stepped foot outside. She vaguely wondered if he knew anything about Peeta, anything about this offer he was considering.

She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Peeta's reaction to Rue the day before, and the tortured look on his face as he’d given her the bare bones of whatever his story was. It had been his obvious unhappiness at the decision he had to make, and something that Haymitch had said to her once, months ago, that had stuck with her. She’d thought about it long after Peeta had left the bakery, long after she’d gone to bed that night, long after Effie had picked the cake up earlier that morning. Curiosity, which didn’t hit her very often, had embedded itself in deep. Katniss took a deep breath, decided to throw caution into the wind. “Hey, Haymitch, good timing. I needed to speak with you – do you mind if I walk partway home with you?”

“Eh, if you have to,” he grumbled. He eyed Effie. “What about you, Trinket? Heading home? Wanna join the party?”

Effie pursed her lips in disapproval of his use of her surname, then shook her head. “No, I’m headed for dinner at The Arena with a friend,” she replied haughtily, naming the one of the few upmarket restaurants they had in town that mostly catered to tourists. “Ta-ta, Katniss, dear. _Haymitch_.”

“Ta-ta,” Katniss echoed, managing to keep a straight face until Effie was far enough away. Then she looked at Haymitch, allowed the grin to spread across her face. “That woman amazes me.”

“Amazes you? She damn well shits me to tears, but then again I guess you don’t have to live beside her, do you?” he replied, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a dingy looking cigar. He lit it as they began to walk in the deepening twilight. “What’s your beef, sweetheart? What have I done now?”

“ _You_ haven’t done anything.”

“But?”

Katniss took a deep breath. She couldn’t believe she was going to ask him about this. “Well…I remember you once told me that Peeta Mellark never does anything he doesn’t want to.”

Haymitch grey eyes sparked with interest. “How’s that work arrangement going for you?” he asked, teeth clenched around the cigar, ignoring her comment.

“Fine,” she replied. “He bakes, I serve, its right as rain.”

“Ha!” he laughed. “Then if it’s right as rain, why are you talking to me about him?”

“It’s not _about_ him,” she replied then trailed off. “Ok, so it is. He kind of lost his shit yesterday, when Rue came in. It was his first time in the bakery at the same time as her, and he just acted plain weird. Even she said so, and she’d never met him before.”

“Huh,” Haymitch replied, removing the cigar and blowing the smoke into the cold November air. “I forgot about that.”

“About what?”

“His boss’s kid. Same name.”

Katniss nodded. “Yeah. And while he was sitting there being all broody, I asked him what was up, why seeing Rue bothered him so much. And he said he’d been thinking about his boss, was thinking about working on a project in New York, but wasn’t sure if he should take it.”

Haymitch’s eyes bugged out of his head, and he spluttered, flickers of ash from the cigar falling on his coat. “Holy shit,” he choked, then looked at Katniss, his eyes immediately becoming guarded and closed off. “Ah sorry. Inhaled wrong," he muttered.

“What the hell was that?” she demanded.

“Nothing,” he replied, his lips firmed in a straight line. “Just ask me what you want to ask me.”

Katniss scowled at him and folded her arms across her chest.  “Fine. You said he wouldn’t ever do something he didn’t want to.”

“Right.”

“So why is he considering doing something he clearly doesn’t want to do?”

“He didn’t want to work at the bakery at first,” Haymitch reminded her, stopping in his walk as they reached the corner where their paths diverged.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?” He sucked on the cigar again, watched as the smoke curled lazily up from its tip. “Look, sweetheart, it’s not my place to tell you a thing. If you’re so interested in knowing this shit, ask him.”

“He won’t tell me.”

“Then why do you want to know so much?” Katniss opened her mouth, then closed it again. She wasn’t going to admit to him why she wanted to know, not when she even wanted to admit it to herself.

“I’m just asking, for concern for a co-worker,” she muttered.

He laughed. “You can’t lie your way out of a paper bag, sweetheart. But I ain’t gonna push it. I couldn’t care less how much you daydream about him.”

She rolled her eyes. “Shut up, Haymitch, you’re gross.”

“I’m astute. Remember what I used to do - I can see right through you.”

“You’re an ass.”

“Feelings mutual,” he winked, then turned on his heel towards home. She watched him walk away, both more intrigued by Peeta's actions than ever, and annoyed at herself for being so weak as to ask Haymitch in the first place.

********

He didn’t bring it up again and she didn’t bring it up either. The next two weeks at work were just like any other.

He stared at her, she stared at him, and they continued to ignore whatever was burgeoning between them.

Both figured they didn’t need the hassle.

********

_"You know, watching you bake is pretty fucking sexy." Her voice drifted behind him, breaking the stillness of the early morning, and her comment made Peeta smile into the dough he was kneading. This is why he loved weekends, when neither he nor Cass had to get up at the crack of dawn and they could appreciate a little bit of ‘them’ time._

_"Really?" he drawled lazily._

_"Yeah." Her arms slid around his waist, and from the feel of the slim, bare leg that slyly tucked between his, she was wearing nothing but the shirt he'd tossed on the floor after work the day before. "Makes me wanna do dirty things to you in the middle of the kitchen."_

_"Like?"_

_She raised up on her tiptoes, rested her mouth close to his ear; he felt the instinctive twitch of his cock inside his boxers at the way her hot breath drifted along his neck. "Have you got all day? It's a very long list."_

_He chuckled, deftly turning so that he could face her, and mould her ass with his flour dusted hands._

_It wasn't Cass he faced._

_It was the dusky skin of Katniss he was touching, her long black curls of hair that tumbled over her shoulders, her feet tangled up with his. It was her collarbone that peeked out from the neckline of his shirt, her nipples that strained against the cotton, her eyes that gazed at him languidly._

_“What-what are you doing here?” he choked out, even as his hands slid up under the thin cotton of his shirt._

_“You tell me,” she whispered, leaning forward and biting his earlobe gently. “This is your dream, not mine.”_

_His eyes rolled back into his head at the feeling of her lips and teeth on his skin. “I don’t want to want you,” Peeta muttered desperately, even as he ground his hips against hers._

_“Sometimes we don’t get what we want.” Her tongue slid a trail up the shell of his ear. “The good old Stones said we get what we need. Maybe…maybe you need me. Maybe you should… show me what you think you need.”_

_His hands palmed her ass even tighter, the flesh firm but soft beneath his fingertips. “Maybe I should.”_

_“Maybe you should.”_

Peeta woke with a start, disorientated and painfully hard. Memories of him and Cass had been coming to him thick and fast in his dreams since he'd opened the box, but this was the first one where it had actually become a _dream_ , not just a dream of a memory. A dream where the woman he'd once loved had become the woman he was...lusting after?

He’d dreamt of Katniss a few times the last few months, but they were normally vague, and in no way related to his past. But this...this was different. It felt real. He could almost pretend her scent still lingered in the air, and that if he reached down for the shirt he’d discarded on the floor, it would still feel warm from her skin.

He pulled himself up off the couch - from where he’d obviously taken an unexpected afternoon nap - and headed upstairs.

It was becoming ridiculous, and he couldn’t ignore it any longer. He needed to do something about it. About her. About these stupid feelings.

After he had an ice-cold shower.

********

It was late afternoon, the warm orange tint of the sun glowing through the window of the bakery kitchen. It was pretty - the sunsets were one of the things Katniss had loved since she’d moved to QMB, but today she hadn’t looked at it once, instead keeping herself huddled over the order book in front of her. She hated this part of the job, but Annie had called her that morning, telling her that Dylan was running a fever and that she couldn’t make it in to do the orders. So instead Katniss had been tasked with ordering their stock, and there were still times - although she’d done it on at least a dozen occasions - that she was certain she was going to screw it up.

Of course, it didn’t help that Peeta was on the other side of the counter.

It wasn’t one of his standard working days, but he’d muttered to Finnick as he’d walked in at 3.30 in the afternoon that he’d had an idea for a new cake recipe and he wanted to test it. Finnick had agreed, under the proviso that if it was any good, they could add it to the menu temporarily, and soon Finnick was moving swiftly between the front of the shop and the kitchen, mostly keeping Rue company. So it was basically her and Peeta in the kitchen, alone, with a mountain of ingredients and paperwork between them.

"Here, try this."

"What?" Katniss didn’t even bother to look up from the paperwork as Peeta’s voice broke through her concentration. _Did they need three bags of flour or four?_

"I _said_ , try this.”

She lifted her head, looked across the countertop to find Peeta’s hand outstretched and his finger pointed directly towards her, creamy batter the colour of butter heaped on it.

"You want me to try that?" she echoed incredulously. _Off his finger? Was he insane?_

"Well, I’m not going to let you lick the bowl while I’m still mixing," Peeta retorted, his eyes firmly on hers.

She clenched her jaw, tried to read whatever was in his eyes. _Was he testing her? Was he trying to get a rise out of her? Or did he just simply want her to try whatever he was making?_

"Well?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Isn’t that a bit weird?”

“What? You scared or something? I don’t have cooties, you know.”

“I’m not scared,” she retorted defensively, shifting in her seat. “Just...don’t get any ideas.”

“No ideas, just testing,” he confirmed.

Chewing on her bottom lip, then figuring there was no harm _(because apparently she’d become a masochist and thought that torturing herself with the guy who pre-occupied a lot of her thoughts was a good idea)_ , she tentatively reached for his wrist. Her fingers gently brushed against his skin, and then she slipped her lips over the tip of his finger, the sweet but tart batter almost exploding on her tongue. Without thinking, her tongue slipped out, slid along to gather the remainder of the batter - and then made the mistake of looking up at him.

Her heart thudded heavily against her chest at the look in his eyes, at the way his pupils had dilated.

She quickly sat back, even as her pulse thrummed under her skin.

“Was it good?” he asked, and his voice was low, throaty.

“Yes. V-very good,” Katniss stuttered. “Really good.”

“Really?”

She swallowed heavily. “Really.”

She shouldn’t have done that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies on the delay on this - my participation across the 7 days of Prompts in Panem put me behind a little, but I hope to get back to a regular posting schedule again now.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	9. Chapter 9

Peeta watched as Katniss abruptly sat back, her back stiffening as she licked absently at her upper lip. Her cheeks bloomed red and her hands fell limply to her lap.

And before he could even stop them, the words fell, unheeded, from his mouth.

“Was it good?” he asked, and was shocked at how deep his voice was, at how _needy_ it sounded.

“Yes. V-very good,” Katniss stuttered in reply. “Really good.” Then she licked her lip again, a long slow trail with her tongue.

He knew she hadn't done it intentionally, but it still didn't stop his stomach from turning and twisting painfully; he shifted on his feet uncomfortably as all the blood in his head drained to his groin. “Really?” He managed to choke out.

“Really.”

Peeta hoped to God the counter and the apron he was wearing was successfully hiding any evidence of how he was reacting to her, because right now his body felt like it had when he’d been 14 and had watched Pamela Anderson run along the beach in slow motion in that damned red swimsuit.  He fisted his hands at his sides, dug his fingers into his palms. “That’s, uh, good. I’m glad you liked it. I was...hoping you would.”

Katniss blinked once, then twice, as if trying to determine what he was saying. If she figured it out, he mused, he hoped she told him, because right now he had _no_ idea. He didn’t know if he was trying to flirt, or was genuinely happy she just liked the batter.

_Shit, he was so out of practice._

“Yo, Katniss, can you bring out that box of danishes for Mrs Cartwright?!” Finnick bellowed from the front of the shop, and Katniss practically fell off the stool in her haste. She scrambled over to the side counter to where the white and blue box sat, yanked it into her arms and pushed the door into the shop front open with her hip, her confused eyes fixated on Peeta as she disappeared.

The minute she was gone, he slumped against the counter. _What the fuck was he thinking?_ He wasn’t prepared for this, no matter how many dreams he’d had of her. Dreams were one thing. In person was another thing entirely. Because he hadn’t been prepared for the way her eyes had flared, or the bolt of electricity that had shot straight up his arm from the simple touch of her delicate fingers on his wrist. He’d thought he could be all nonchalant and cool, as he figured out whether she felt anything towards him the way he - _against his better judgement_ \- did about her. But he’d barely been able to hold a conversation, let alone anything else.

_He shouldn’t have done that._

Taking in a deep breath, he resolved to pull himself together by the time she returned, and was fully immersed in putting the finished cake in the oven by the time she pushed back through the swinging door. He didn’t look at her as she settled back at the counter with the order book, simply focused on stacking the industrial dishwasher, wiping down the benches. They didn’t say a word to each other, nor share a single look. The silence was deafening, but he wasn’t willing to break it. Not when he had no idea what words would tumble out of his mouth.

His stomach still felt like it was tied in knots over an hour later, as he finished icing the cake. He’d mulled over his actions the entire time he’d mixed the cream cheese frosting, cursing himself for not thinking clearly before he acted. He’d known what he was getting himself into - hell, it had been his own idea to march into the bakery unannounced - but now, upon reflection, he wondered if it had really been the smartest thing to do.

Because the feeling of Katniss’ tongue sliding against his finger still lingered on his skin, and the flush on her cheek still hadn’t died away. And the air between them was thick with a tension that he was worried only one thing could break.

And if they did that, right here and right now, they’d likely break a dozen food safety laws.

He wasn’t even sure he was prepared for that.

********

She needed to go home.

It was the one and only constant thought Katniss had had since she’d slid her lips from around his finger. Sure, since then she’d thought about walking the 20 paces it took to carry Mrs Cartwright’s danishes out to the front of the store, or thought about what spices they needed to restock. But underneath them all had been the undeniable feeling of needing to get far, far away.

Because while she’d thought about Peeta a lot over the last few months, she’d never expected to have that kind of reaction to him. It had swooped in her stomach, set a dozen butterflies into a frenzy until it had been nothing but a quivering mess. Her heart had leapt up into her throat, had almost threatened to swallow her whole. She’d felt the urge to squeeze her legs together ever since, just to try and get the ache that had settled in her core to abate.

And she'd realised she’d never, ever felt this way before. Not even with Gale.

********

_She wiped the cloth over the mahogany bar for the third time that shift, but it made no difference. The stickiness left behind from years of alcohol rings and spillage was never going to go away, no matter how many times she cleaned it. And in the end, it really didn’t matter. Cray didn’t give two shits about how the place looked, as long as she served drinks, and didn’t argue with the customers._

_She didn’t, not anymore. She had on her first few shifts, when a couple of customers had mistakenly thought that she would happily come for free with their drink. But a slap to the face of one of them, and a dig at the minute manhood of another soon taught the regulars and non-regulars alike at Twelve, the dodgy bar under the apartment where she’d lived, not to mess with her._

_The minute she’d turned 21, she’d fronted up to Cray and asked for a job. If the noise from the bar was going to keep her up half the night, she figured she may as well be working there. Plus it paid more and the tips were surprisingly better than at the shitty diner she’d slaved away at during her first year in Panem._

_Another year later, she’d moved out of the apartment in what she now realised had been a rushed decision - one of the other bartenders, Jo, had had a spare room in a house she shared with two other girls, and as the rent had been considerably cheaper than the shitty apartment, she’d agreed._

_Much to her annoyance, Jo had unexpectedly moved out a month later with a sudden plan to head to Oregon, taking with her another one of their roommates. She’d hastily advertised for new people to share the rent, and in the end Katniss had been left with three girls who drove her insane. And stole her fucking jeans._

_But she still stuck it out at Cray’s. It wasn’t what she wanted to do with her life - hell, she still didn’t know what that was - but she was saving enough money for whatever it was. And it kept her occupied, and her mind busy. That was all that mattered._

_She looked up as the door to the bar swung open, bringing with it the cooling September air, and the long, lean form of one Gale Hawthorne._

_Katniss turned away then, under the guise of rinsing out the cloth in the small bar sink. But, more than anything, it was to try and get her flushed cheeks under control before he made it to the bar._

_He was a regular, often dropped by after his construction shift ended for the day. Sometimes he’d show up with a few of the crew, others he’d be on his own. They’d gotten to chatting one night, months ago, over a shared interest in the benefits of sustainable housing, until eventually they’d downed a few drinks off-shift, had gone out for dinner a couple times here and there. And just the Thursday before, they’d gone to the cinema, and ended up back at the small house he’d proudly told her he’d spent the last two years renovating._

_She’d lost her virginity at 16, something she later regretted on account of Cato Anderson turning out to be a dick, and as a result, had studiously avoided anything similar in the time since. But Gale Hawthorne, with his strong hands, dark hair the same shade as hers, and long, muscular body, had changed that._

_“Hey Katniss,” he greeted, and she turned back to face him, hoped her inflamed cheeks had settled. She was lucky in the fact that you had to be close to her to see the pink, on account of her olive toned skin, but she still hated the feeling of the heat on her face.  If her best friend from high school, Madge, had been here, she would have gently teased her about still being so pure after all these years._

_Gale didn’t smile as they locked eyes - she noted he didn’t smile very often, but that was ok, because neither did she - but his cheek twitched slightly as the corner of his mouth lifted, and she knew he was happy to see her._

_“Hey Gale,” she replied. “Thought you were out of town visiting family this weekend.”_

_“Came home early,” he said simply, tapping his fingers absently on the wood. “Can I get a glass of the Tracker, please?” She nodded, reached for a glass, put it under the tap of the local brew, and began to draw the beer. “I, uh, was hoping you maybe finished soon.”_

_Katniss glanced at the clock, noted she only had 5 minutes until the end of her shift - Darcy, a cute, no-bullshit redhead had drawn the close - and shrugged as she slid the beer across to him. “I finish in 5.”_

_This time the smile did creep across his face. “Great. Do you...do you want to grab a late bite to eat?”_

_“I guess,” she replied noncommittally. “Just at the diner?”_

_“Sounds good,” he agreed._

_He kissed her later, another one of those kisses that led to another, then another, then eventually back to his place. He knew where to touch, and when, and she came apart under his clever hands, as he slid in and out of her in smooth, measured strokes. And while it wasn’t as though he made her heart stutter or anything like that, it was pleasant, enjoyable. She just figured she wasn’t built for fireworks and feeling like her heart was going to pound out of her chest and experiencing mind-numbing orgasms that left her limp and drained, like those stupid housemates of hers liked to talk about in the kitchen._

_Just like she knew she wasn’t built for love._

********

She snapped the order book shut, and slid from the stool again, her feet hitting the floor with a thud. “I’m going home,” she muttered. “I’ll submit the orders from my laptop there.”

Peeta looked up at her, from where he was carefully smoothing out the final pieces of frosting on the cake he’d been preparing. If he was bothered by their earlier… _interaction_ , it didn’t show. “Ok,” he said simply. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah, sure,” she replied, then hightailed it out of the bakery before she had to say another word.

She needed to speak to Annie.

********

“Katniss, you didn’t.”

“I _did_.”

“Oh my God.”

“I know. It was so stupid.”

“No! Oh my God, as in, this is the best thing I’ve heard all week!” Annie’s eyes shone with amusement as she placed the steaming mug of coffee on the table in front of Katniss, dropped onto the sofa beside her. She glanced over quickly at a finally sleeping Dylan in his portable crib, then tucked her legs up under her, lifted her own coffee to her lips. “I’ve had a sick baby - hearing about you licking batter off Peeta Mellark’s finger has officially made my day.”

Katniss dropped her head into her hands. “You saying it like that doesn’t make me feel any better.”

“It shouldn’t,” Annie retorted. “Right now you should be playing sexy pastry chef with him, not having coffee on my sofa. Seriously, Katniss. If that wasn’t a move, I don’t know what is.”

Katniss looked up again, sighed. "He assured me it wasn't anything, and completely ignored me afterwards. Then things felt super weird."

"Super weird like what?"

"Like...the air was really thick or something."

"You might be out of practice, Katniss, but that sounds like simple sexual tension to me." Annie tipped her head, amusement in her eyes. "Can I remind you - the guy asked you to _lick batter off his finger_. We have a considerable stock of extra spoons, you know. Pretty easy to grab one out of the drawer, scoop a little batter, then hand the spoon to you."

Katniss pursed her lips, picked up the mug and drank deeply, in an effort to school her thoughts together. She wasn't blind in the way she'd seen his eyes change through it all - dilating down until the blue was almost non-existent - nor the way his voice had deepened. But he'd appeared so unaffected and his usual unsociable self when she re-entered the kitchen that she'd just figured she'd been wrong, that it had all been her own imagination. "He's rude, you know."

"Yep."

"And unsociable."

"Uh-huh."

"And secretive."

"Sure."

"And - Annie, you're not arguing with me."

Annie laughed lightly. "Of course I'm not, because everything you just said is true. But there's also more to him than that. Between my observations, and the few things you and Finnick have told me, there has to be. He actively asked Finnick the other day how Dylan was doing. If he was that much of an ass, would he ask that?"

Katniss shrugged, put her now empty mug back on the coffee table. "I'm...I'm..."

"Yeah?"

She scrubbed a hand across her face in frustration. "I'm still broken, Annie. I can't attach myself to someone like that. I can't..."

"Can't what?"

Katniss fiddled with the hem of her striped shirt, twisting it around her finger until the tip turned purple. "Gale was good. Gale was nice...but he was just a distraction. Nothing more, nothing less. I'm afraid Peeta could get too close if I let him."

A short cry from Dylan interrupted them, and Annie slid her mug onto the coffee table and rose, crossing the room to look down into the crib. She reached in, her hand brushing against the baby’s belly, and she murmured soft words to him that Katniss couldn’t make out from her seat on the sofa. She didn't need to hear them though; it was an image steeped in love, and showed an unbreakable bond between the two.

When he’d settled again, Annie moved back, picked up her mug and grasped it in her hands tightly as she sat again. “Sorry about that.”

“No, don’t apologise. I should go, let you have some down time while he’s sleeping.”

Annie shook her head. “Katniss, I don’t want you to leave. I want you to tell me why you don’t want to get too close to Peeta.”

Katniss sighed, closed her eyes. “I don’t even know him.”

“You can’t use that as an excuse. You’ve worked with him enough by now that he’s definitely not a stranger. Try again.”

“Because he’s basically the epitome of who I _wouldn’t_ want to date. Not that I want to date anyway."

“ _Katniss_.” This time, Annie adopted a tone that Katniss had only ever heard use on Finnick, when he was in trouble.

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. Because...because there's just something _there_ between us. Something I haven't felt with anyone else. And I don't like it."

Annie smiled, obviously happy that she’d finally gotten the truth out of Katniss. "You know, the same thing happened with Finnick and I - and look where that got us in the end. My dad skipped town on my mom and I when I was a kid, left the two of us alone to fend for ourselves and I didn't want to run the risk of the same thing happening to me. But Finnick was persistent, didn’t matter how many times I turned him down, he stuck with it. I'm glad he did."

Katniss shook her head. "But Finnick is _Finnick_. He's charming as all hell and _was_ persistent. Peeta isn't. He just...makes me feel funny. Even while he makes me want to punch him."

Annie bit down on her tongue to keep from laughing. "I love how you narrow all of this down to 'feeling funny'."

"Well it's true."

"And so is me telling you the batter was a move, even if he ignored you afterwards. Maybe he was as freaked out as you are. Just test the waters, Katniss. Ask him out for a drink or something."

"I'm shit at that kind of stuff."

"And from the sounds of it, so is he.”

“Maybe-”

“Maybe you just both need to learn how to make a proper move," Annie interjected. "Neither of you are particularly great at communication. No offense.”

“None taken,” Katniss replied honestly. _How could she when it was the truth?_ “But anyway, I can't ask him out for a drink."

"Why not?"

"Because what if he says no?"

Annie shook her head. "What, are you 15 again? Just say it's a drink between co-workers. Anything. Just do it!"

Katniss chewed on her lip. "A drink as co-workers. I can...I can ask him to do that."

“ _Finally_.” Then Annie leant forward in the seat, anticipation on her face. "Now that we’ve established that, you have tell me - what _did_ the batter taste like?"

********

_He shook the snow off his coat, rubbed a hand over his head to remove any wayward flakes. The five minutes of effort he'd put into it had already gone to waste in the short walk from the subway to the entrance of the tall, glass monstrosity of a skyscraper, but it didn't really matter. Peeta wasn't here to pick up - he was here to be introduced to Plutarch Heavensbee, Christopher Boggs and Alannah Paylor, his new bosses._

_Well - technically, Cinna's new bosses for this project, but as he was lead architect, it flowed onto him as well._

_"You good, Peeta?" Cinna asked, brushing a hand absently down his black jacket. It was the man's standard 'final meeting' outfit - black suit, black tie, black shoes, black shirt. The only hint of colour was gold stitching on the breast pocket of the jacket, so subtle you hardly noticed it._

_Peeta had come to think of it as Cinna's 'lucky' outfit, because every plan he finalised when wearing it invariably blew the client away when the project was done and dusted._

_"Yeah, I'm good."_

_"Good. They just have a few questions around the final layout of some of their offices for the renovation. It's just a shame Cressida couldn't make it," he mused, referring to their lead interior designer._

_Peeta nodded - they'd already gone over this a million times back in the office - and stepped towards the elevator banks. "I don't blame them for wanting a refit, to be honest. I don't think this place has been renovated since Clinton got into office."_

_"You were barely in high school when Clinton got into office," Cinna said wryly, stepping into an open elevator._

_"Doesn't mean I don't know architecture and design from that time when I see it," Peeta grinned, pressed the button for floor 13._

_"Why do you think you're here?" Cinna replied with a chuckle. Their exchanged smile spoke more for their friendship than their relationship as boss and employee, and they rode the rest of the way up in silence._

_They spent more than an hour inspecting the offices that would be renovated more extensively, those of the partners and a few up and comers. The final office Peeta studied wasn't a coveted corner, but it was the next best thing. The windows looked out across the street, affording a view of the hustle and bustle below - tourists, cab horns blaring, cyclists weaving in and around the cars lining the road. This office needed clean lines, simplicity. He wanted whoever it was who worked in here - Cassandra Mere, he noticed from the brass nameplate on the desk - to want to drink in the outside, to swivel her seat around to see the action below. Not look at some boring, pastel watercolour on the opposite wall like she did now, he thought, as he turned and screwed his nose up at it distastefully._

_"Can I help you?" Her voice was smooth, cultured, though it had an element of huskiness that was appealing. Peeta looked up at the door, and the blonde outlined in the frame. Her perfectly highlighted blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in glossy waves, and a body that had curves in all the right places was sheathed in a simple sleeveless, navy dress that should have looked frumpy but was anything but._

_"Sorry,” he apologised, sliding his left hand into the pocket of the stone grey suit he wore. “I'm with Cinna and Associates, and I was-"_

_"Mentally wanting to rip the watercolour off the wall, right?" She smiled winningly, stepped across the thick, beige carpeting until she stood beside him at the window. She rested a hand on the glass, obviously not caring about the fingerprints she’d leave behind. "I much prefer looking out the window at the people."_

_Peeta raised an eyebrow in amusement as they locked gazes. "You must've read my mind, because all of that was exactly what I was thinking." He extended his hand, was rewarded with her own slipping into his almost immediately. Her skin was soft, her nail polish a pale, pearlescent pink. "Peeta Mellark."_

_"Cassandra Mere. Though my friends call me Cass."_

_"Well, it's nice to meet you, Cass." He lifted the corner of his mouth in a slight smirk, waited for her to correct him for using Cass when they very obviously weren't friends._

_She didn't._

_"And you too, Peeta," she replied simply. She glanced back down at the street below, and he took a moment to admire her profile - the almost aristocratic nose, the perfectly proportioned lips, the faint remnant of a scar on the curve of her jaw. He wasn't going to lie - she was damned attractive. And something about her made him want to make a move, made him want to forget his self-imposed rule to never date a client._

_"I think you need an office that reflects you," he started._

_She turned to face him, curiosity clear on her face."Really? And what would that be?"_

_He rocked back on his heels as he glanced around the room. "Clean lines. Your desk would be dark wood, almost a cherry, as would the shelves on the far wall. You'd want that watercolour to be replaced by something more...abstract. Bright. It would be in blues and greens, and the low slung armchair under it would be a dark grey. Nothing too ornate or over the top. But none of that would really matter, because you'd shift your desk so that it's perpendicular to the window, and every time you wrote, you'd glance out the window." He glanced down at her hand. "I'm assuming you're left handed, of course."_

_Cass smiled as she held up her hand, the offending ink staining the side of her palm. "Very good. But I thought you were an architect, not a designer." He raised an eyebrow at her comment, and she shrugged. "What can I say? When I was told C & A was doing the refit, I googled the team."_

_He couldn't help the frisson of pleasure knowing that she'd looked them up already, but he nodded nonchalantly, kept his famous composure in check. "I am. But I still like to think about the details," he replied simply, then turned back to the window, shook his head at the drab blinds that framed it. "There'd be no drapes or blinds. You'd want to see this view every day, and there's no point buying something you'd never use. This view is the first and last thing people will remember when they think of your office.” Then he glanced back at her, smiled slightly. “Other than you, of course.”_

_Cinna had always told him that he had a way with words. That while his designs were what won clients, it was the easy charm he possessed in spades that always got them over the line. It never hurt that he was affable, kind and friendly, of course. But Peeta’s strong sense of communication, his way of knowing what to say - and when, and how - was a huge attribute in his career, and his life._

_It also helped him to secure a drinks date at a bar in the West Village with Cass Mere for the following Friday._

_And it certainly helped when, 6 months later, she enthusiastically said yes to the elegant diamond he got down on one knee to present to her._

********

He’d already hung the apron up on the hook, had grabbed his wallet and keys and shoved them in his back pocket when Katniss swung through the kitchen door. They’d managed to avoid each other for most of the morning, and he’d been looking forward to nothing more than to getting out of there and going home. He was tired and annoyed - he’d stayed up most of the night before kicking himself for doing the stupid icing thing. He was fairly certain all he’d done was make a fool of himself.

So right now, he just wanted to go home, hibernate and forget the whole thing had happened.

“Uh, hi,” she muttered.

“Hi,” he replied shortly. “I’m heading off. Is there something you needed?”

Katniss nodded, then shook her head, then nodded again. “Uh, no. Not need, or anything. But I wanted to know…”

“Yeah?”

She took a deep breath, and he could see her shoulders rise up so high they almost hit her ears. “I used to go out for a Friday night drink with Finnick and Annie. They’re not so keen these days. Are you?”

“Am I what?”

“Don’t be dense,” she snapped with a scowl. “I’m asking you if you want to go for a drink. At The Hob.”

Peeta wasn’t sure if it was shock or surprise that caused his jaw to drop. “You want to go for a drink. With me.”

“I was offering to go for a drink with a co-worker, and you're it because Rue isn’t old enough yet. But whatever, forget about it.” She glared at him, turned on her heel back to the door.

He’d spent 5 years avoiding this, and the temptation to say no was real and strong. So he was surprised when something else entirely slipped from his lips.“Yes.”

Katniss stopped, turned and glanced over her shoulder at him. “What?”

 _Shit_. “Yes.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay. I’ll meet you there at 6. Tomorrow night.”

“At 6.” he echoed, and with another nod, she disappeared through the door back to the shop front.

Alone in an empty kitchen, Peeta wondered what the hell had just happened - and whether maybe his shitty attempt at a move the day before had actually kind of worked.

********

He felt half a dozen sets of eyes swing towards him as he stepped inside The Hob. In all the time he’d lived in Quarter Mile Bay, he’d never been inside the bar, and he studied the interior with a practiced eye. It was nothing spectacular - a lot of wood, a few seascapes on the wall, some counter seats and a dozen high-top booths. But it was comfortable, gave off a friendly vibe.

Or at least, Peeta figured it did when people weren’t staring at him like he had three heads.

Intentionally not catching anyone’s eye, he moved towards the last booth, sat on the side that left him with his back to the rest of the room. At least this way, he didn’t have to watch as they burned holes into his back.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, answered an email from Cinna’s assistant, did a quick check of the weather on the app. Rain was predicted for later that night, and all of the following day.

The beer slid across the tabletop, and he looked up in time to see Katniss drop into the booth opposite him, her hair pulled back in a ponytail instead of her standard braid, and wearing the faded leather jacket he normally saw on one of the wall pegs in the bakery. “Hope you like Tracker,” she said simply, tipping her head towards the beer.

He lifted the bottle, studied the label. “Never heard of it.”

“It’s local to where I lived before here. They’ve started to really promote it the last few years; it’s gaining some popularity.”

At Katniss’ words, Peeta shifted the bottle so he could see where it was from. _Panem_. Huh. He’d stayed a night or two there years ago, back when he was on his...drive of rediscovery. Before he’d settled up in the house on the hill.

“I’ve been to Panem,” he admitted. “Not long before I moved here.”

“Really? That’s interesting,” Katniss replied, and he didn’t know if she was being sarcastic or honest.

“Yeah. It was...alright.”

“Sure.”

Silence - what seemed to be their go-to form of communication - reigned supreme as they drank their beers.

“Another?” Katniss asked, once both their bottles were sitting empty on the table, along with the tattered remains of the label Katniss had torn off of hers.

“Sure,” Peeta replied as she stood up, and he pulled a twenty out of his wallet. “Here, I’ll get this round.”

Katniss took the note without a word, slid out of the booth and headed to the bar.

He only realised he’d watched the sway of her hips as she walked away when his gaze slid up and collided with the redheaded bartender who was giving him the evil eye.

"What's his problem?" Peeta said bluntly as Katniss arrived back with their drinks. He flicked his eyes back over to the bartender, and Katniss followed his gaze as she lowered into her seat.

"That's Darius. Grew up here."

"That's good and all, but why am I getting the stink eye from him?"

Katniss shrugged. "I dunno. He's been trying to get me on a date for ages." She sipped at her beer, and Peeta watched as her eyes widened the moment her words set in. The bottle fell abruptly from her lips. "Not th-that this is a d-date," she sputtered.

This time the pull he took of his beer was slow, long, leisurely, and he smirked slightly. "Not at all," he agreed.

"He, uh, just doesn't know you, I guess."

"Very true." He sipped again, and for some reason, the discomfort in her posture and the horror in her eyes gave him an odd sense of confidence. “Actually, neither do you.”

“Huh?”

“You. You don’t know me very well.”

She scoffed. “You hide out in your man cave, so _no one_ knows you very well. I think half the people in the bar are still in shock from seeing you in here.”

Peeta leant forward in his seat. “Then ask me.”

“Ask you what?” He watched as the lines between her brows appeared, as though she was confused.

“A question.”

“What kind of question?”

“A question about…the deep stuff.”

Katniss rolled her eyes. “Like, what’s your relationship like with your mother?”

He felt his lips twitch at her quick response. “No. I was thinking more about…favourite colours.”

Katniss turned the bottle in a small circle on the table, studied him curiously. “Alright. Pretty lame, but whatever. What’s your favourite colour?”

“Orange. Like the sunset,” he replied promptly, then shifted in his seat. “Now you have to tell me yours.”

“Green,” she muttered. “Like in the forest.”

Peeta nodded, then leant backwards, stretched his legs out under the table. “See, we know each other better already.” He smiled, rather pleased with himself.

“Sure,” she agreed, sipping at her drink again. He noticed that a gentle flush was creeping up her neck and onto her cheeks.

Maybe, just maybe, he mused, the charm everyone used to tell him he had was still inside of him, just waiting for a chance to get back out.

He prepared to settle himself in for another drink.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, for your comments and kudos. You can find me on tumblr, under sponsormusings, where I spend a lot of time...procrastinating ;)


	10. Chapter 10

The lights had dimmed in the bar more than an hour before, the music turned up almost simultaneously; _Stubborn Love_ currently filtered through the speakers over the noise of clinking glasses and low conversation. There was a brunette she didn’t recognise leaning over the bar, fluttering her eyelashes at Darius, her shirt riding dangerously low, while a couple of guys at the booth in the middle of the row checked her out. Mr Cartwright and his brother sat at two of the high-tops, bitching about the wives they’d soon go home to with a smile on their face and a drunken spring in their step, and a couple of the local schoolteachers were huddled around the pool table - from the looks of it, the two English teachers were whooping the asses of the gym teachers.

Katniss barely saw or heard any of it though; her focus was completely and utterly on the guy who sat across from her. Peeta was, to say the least, a confusing mix of charming, snarky, sharp and intriguing.

The beers had loosened him up a bit, and combined with the beer buzz she had going on, the conversation hadn’t been stilted or awkward. She was still horrified she’d inadvertently called it a date though. Because it wasn’t. It wasn’t a date. At all. Just a few drinks between co-workers. Even if it _was_ a co-worker she wanted to kiss.

And she really couldn’t lie to herself about that anymore, either. Especially when she caught herself looking at the way his mouth curved around the bottle each time he lifted it to his lips to drink.

They’d talked about food they enjoyed, which sports they liked, what tv shows they watched. There were long periods of silence, but they weren’t as bad as she’d expected them to be. Instead, it was almost...comforting, that he didn’t feel the need to fill every bit of silence like so many other people always did.

“So she’s actually a talent agent?” Peeta asked incredulously as Katniss’ last comment sunk in. “I thought she might have been...talking herself up.”

Effie, somehow, had become a topic of conversation, and Katniss snorted at his surprise. “Yeah. I guess she has her reasons for not living in New York or LA, but she can basically work from anywhere, and she wants it to be here. I don’t know why, and I’m afraid to ask.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m afraid that if I ask her about it, she’ll _answer_. And I don’t have enough hours in the day to listen to that.” She spied his lips twitch, as though he was trying to stop himself from laughing. “But seriously. I hear everything I need to from Haymitch, without the side of extracurricular gossip.”

“I thought extracurricular gossip was the norm in a small town like this.”

“It is,” she countered. “But I guarantee you if you spent more than half an hour in that bakery with Effie and Florence Cartwright, you’d want to tear your hair out.”

“I’ve heard them from the kitchen,” he replied, and she scoffed.

“That doesn’t even count.”

“Well, you guys don’t pay me to work out the front.”

“And thank God for that,” Katniss retorted before she could stop herself, and this time he _did_ laugh. It was, possibly, the first time she’d heard him _really_ laugh, one that rumbled in his chest before it burst from him, as though it had been contained for so long, and desperately needed to get out. “I like my job, but I sometimes struggle with the...social aspect of it. Probably why I didn’t really cut it as a bartender.”

He looked at her curiously. “Is that what you did before here? Worked in a bar?”

Katniss shrugged, picked at the label on her bottle. “Yeah, amongst a few other things. But it was my last gig before I came here.”

“Tending wasn’t for you?”

“No.” She pulled the label off in one fell swoop, dropped it onto the table. “Panem wasn’t really for me either.”

“And here is?”

“I guess. It felt like home when I arrived,” she murmured. He nodded slowly, his eyes flashing with something like recognition, and she wondered if he felt the same way. He wasn’t from here - she didn’t even know _where_ he was from - and she wondered why he’d chosen to come to Quarter Mile Bay from New York, instead of returning home.

But for some reason, she didn’t feel like he’d answer, even if she asked.

“So is working in a bakery what you always wanted to do?”

Katniss smiled ruefully, the corner of her mouth lifting slightly. “Not really. But then I still don’t know what I want to do anyway, so…” she trailed off, unsure of what to say. Because sometimes she hated the fact that she still had no direction in life.

“Speaking of the bakery,” he started, when it was obvious she wasn’t going to say anything more, “Finnick’s asked me to stay on until just before Christmas, when they close for the holidays.”

Her stomach quivered as she remembered _that_ time they’d been in the bakery kitchen together. “Oh. That, uh, that doesn’t impact your other work, does it?”

He shook his head, looked everywhere but at her. “I’ll only do two shifts a week after next week. But you’re stuck with me for a little longer, it seems.”

“I guess so.” _Could she last until Christmas with him in the bakery?_ She shook her head, not even wanting to think about it, and tipped her bottle in his direction. “Anyway, uh, what about you? Always architecture?”

Peeta sipped at the bottle, and she could see his eyes as they studied her through his lowered lashes. _They were so long,_ she mused. _Even in the shitty light in here, they were long and fine, and looked like spun sugar_.

She blinked at herself. _Spun sugar? What the hell, Katniss?_

She’d spent too much time at the bakery lately, obviously.

He cleared his throat, rested the bottle back on the table top. “Since I was about 16. Took a trip to Europe with my family, and I saw a lot of stuff there that inspired me.”

“Anywhere in particular?”

“Mostly Barcelona. Knew it was what I wanted to do the minute I left there, and 16 years later, here I am.”

“That’s cool,” Katniss muttered. “That you knew so early on what you wanted.”

“I normally do,” he replied, and if she thought she’d caught a change in his tone, she just chalked it up to the beer playing tricks on her. “Although sometimes things happen that you don’t expect.”

“Yeah.” She didn’t know what else to say. What could she say? _Yeah, I ended up here because my family is all dead, so unexpected things are totally my norm_.

The song over the speakers switched over, and Katniss listened to it for a moment before she rested her right elbow on the table, dropped her chin into her upturned palm. “This is fitting, actually. I always figure they had it right,” she mused absently.

“Huh? What? Who?” Peeta asked, rubbing at his left eye. He looked tired, she realised. Like the beers had suddenly hit him, much like they were starting to do to her.

She lifted her left hand, gestured to the air. “The Stones. You know, the whole _you get what you need_ thing. I never get what I want - but then again, I never wanted anything. So...ugh, never mind, I’m just making a moot point anyway.” She leant back in the seat, then glanced over at him when he didn’t respond.

She didn’t expect to see him staring at her, white-faced, as he lowered his hand back to the tabletop.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asked curiously. “You’re not gonna vomit are you?” He shook his head, then yanked himself out of the booth so hard she had to blink twice. She sat upright in her seat in shock as he lifted his wallet from the table, shoved it in his back pocket. “What the hell? What are you doing?”

“I can’t do this,” he hedged, his voice sharp and short. “I gotta go.” He turned on his heel, pushed past a group of guys barely old enough to be in The Hob, and barrelled out the door before Katniss even had a chance to figure out what had happened.

 _What the hell?_ she thought, staring at his half-full bottle of beer, towards the door, then back to the beer again. Then, as confusion gave way to indignance and annoyance, she launched herself from the booth. She regretted it immediately - the 6 beers swimming in her head and her stomach making her grip the edge of the table - but she didn’t let it put her off. She headed straight for the door, out into the night.

Clouds had drifted in since she’d entered the bar, obscuring the moon and bathing the streets in darkness. Only the occasional streetlight gave her any sense of direction, and in the dim light, she could just see his hunched shoulders and heavy gait as he strode down Main, the stores closed and the street empty bar for a few parked cars from patrons at The Hob.

“Hey, asshole!” she called, barely able to stop herself from tripping over the curb. He ignored her, just kept on walking. “I’m talking to you, Mellark!”

Still nothing.If anything his stride quickened, his feet taking him further away from her.

_She wasn’t going to put up with that._

With a sigh, Katniss began to run after him, her jacket flapping around her waist and the hair from her ponytail flicking about her face. The beer sloshed in her stomach with every step, and she regretted each one bitterly - but it was worth it when she reached him and she yanked on his arm, roughly turning him to face her. “What the _hell_ is your problem?” she demanded angrily as his eyes locked with hers. “We were getting along fine, and then with the flick of a switch, you suddenly become your usual Grade A Asshole self!”

Peeta stood on the sidewalk and folded his arms across his chest, his jaw tense and his eyes flaring. “None of your damned business.”

She shook her head. “You say that a lot, you know. I just spent three hours of my own Friday night sitting with you in a bar, only to have you run out with your tail between your legs. So it damn well _is_ my business.”

They glared at each other until finally, he scoffed, shook his head. “You _really_ want to know?”

“I think I deserve an answer. Especially if we’re going to be working with each other up until Christmas time. We’ll need to be _civil_ and all that.” She jutted her chin up, knew from what her mom - and even Haymitch - had told her, that it was her most obstinate look.

“Fine.” He clenched his jaw so tightly she could see the twitching of muscles beneath the skin, breathed out of his nose deeply before he opened his mouth to speak. “I dreamt of you.”

“You think - wait, what?” Her mouth dropped open, and the tirade where she was going to accuse him of being a rude prick suddenly disappeared from her lips. “What?”

He snorted, leant against the window of the bookstore they’d stopped outside of. Fairylights decorating the window gave him an almost ethereal halo, one she really didn’t think he deserved. “You heard me.”

“I don’t think I did.”

This time his words were slow, measured, as though each word was separated by a full stop. “I dreamt of you.”

She rolled her eyes, even while her heart did a weird thud in her chest. “Sooooo, you were asleep while we were in The Hob? Were you wearing some of those glasses that have the open eyes while you snoozed away?” She lifted her hands in front of her eyes as she spoke, flicked her fingers out to emphasise her reply. “You know, you don’t have to be a dick about this.”

“I’m not.” His demeanour had suddenly shifted, as though speaking had...lightened his load or something. His eyes didn’t seem as angry, his posture looser, more relaxed. “I just told you the truth, but if _you_ want to be a dick about it…”

“I’m not!” She countered hotly. “You’re the one who walked out!”

This time he leant forward slightly. “And I just told you why.”

She threw up her hands in frustration as a crack of thunder broke overhead. Neither of them flinched. “So big deal. I have dreams about a lot of people. I had a dream about Haymitch the other night, where I found him passed out beside the pastry case, and he’d eaten every single one of the damn things.”

“That’s _not_ what I’m talking about. Although if you’ve ever had a dream like this about Haymitch…” he winced.

Katniss opened her mouth, then closed it again, as his words sunk in. _Was he...was he saying…_ “What are you saying?” she finally muttered.

“What do you think I’m saying?” He shrugged, bent his leg so that his foot was pressed against the glass.

“I...I don’t know.”

Peeta studied her for a moment before he pushed away from the window, started to walk away down the street as the clouds opened up and rain began to fall. It was soft, a gentle patter, but the heavy clouds overhead promised something more. A second rumble of thunder emphasised her thoughts.

She stared after him as the rain fell on her head, as the drops streaked down the worn leather of her jacket. Then he turned around, shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked backwards. “You quoted the Stones. You were wearing my shirt,” he called, then turned back around again, tossing the final words over his shoulder. “And nothing else.”

_Holy shit._

She watched him walk away from her for the second time that night, her heart pounding, her mind whirling, with one question repeating itself over and over again like a loop.

_Should she? Should she? Should she?_

_Fuck it._

And for the second time that night, she ran after him.

********

It had been the last thing Peeta had expected to come out of her mouth that night. Practically the same words she’d uttered to him in his dream, the dream that had led him to the bakery, and made him pull a stupid move with a bowl full of batter. The moment she’d said them, he’d pictured her in his kitchen, in his pale blue pinstriped shirt, her eyes sleepy and needy. And he’d needed to get away from her.

Everything had been fine before then. It had probably been the best conversation he’d had in years, outside of those he’d had with Cinna or Haymitch or his father. He’d surprised himself by actually asking her _questions_ , had answered those she’d asked of him. He’d learned their musical tastes were pretty similar, that they both hated it when Finnick arrived in the bakery, and put on his iPod, with his unexpected penchant for 90s boy bands and pop. She’d admitted she thought his cheese buns were even better than his cinnamon buns - a testament more to her preference of savoury over sweet rather than his skills - and he’d voluntarily told her the basics of why he’d become an architect.

Then she’d quoted a simple song lyric, and every wall he’d lowered had built back up again in a matter of seconds.

He hadn’t expected her to come after him, not at all. And he hadn’t planned on telling her about the dream. But he also didn’t expect to see her fly past him on the road, her feet splashing in the quickly forming puddles as the rain grew heavier. He quirked an eyebrow, watched as she leapt onto the sidewalk, planted herself in his way under the awning in front of - _all damn places_ \- the bakery. Her hands were fisted on her hips, and her ponytail was a long, wet length streaming over her shoulder. Even in the darkened night, he could see the combination of confusion and determination in her eyes.

“Yes?” he asked.

“You can’t say something like that, and just walk off,” she snapped.

“Yeah, I can,” Peeta replied with a shrug.

Katniss stepped forward, poked her finger towards him. “No you can’t,” she repeated forcefully. She narrowed her eyes, and he felt the sudden burst of need for her shoot through him until he could barely breathe.

“Yeah. I can.” This time he stepped forward until her finger hit his chest, almost directly between the first and second button of his shirt. He reached up, encircled her wrist with his hand. “Who’s going to stop me?”

He felt her pulse leap under his fingertips, watched as her throat bobbed as she swallowed heavily.

“No one should have to _stop_ you - it’s just common courtesy.”

“Well, I’m flush out of that, sweetheart.”

“You’re such an ass,” she accused.

“You’re a _pain_ in my ass,” he retorted.

“I should never even bothered to be nice to you.”

“No. You shouldn’t have.”

“I’m not even nice to people anyway,” she muttered. “I don’t know why I even half try with you.”

His fingers flexed against her wrist. “Neither do I.”

They glared at each other.

She bit down on her lower lip.

His eyes followed.

And then her mouth was on his, hot and cold and wet all at the same time, her hands clenching the front of his sodden shirt.

 _Shit, she tasted like sugar and beer and the forbidden_.

He let go of her wrist, lowered his hands to her hips and yanked her against him, his mouth moving hungrily against hers. He forgot all about breathing, instead focused on the plumpness of her lower lip, dragging it between his teeth before his tongue slid into her mouth, tangling with hers in a kiss that was almost vicious with _need_. Her hands tugged at his shirt, until the collar dug into the back of his neck, and he moaned. It didn’t hurt, though.

It just made him want her more.

Peeta’s hands slid around her hips, pulling her even closer until there was nothing but denim separating them, and he felt, more than heard, the murmur in her throat at the contact. Her breasts were pressed up against him, and he vaguely wished she wasn’t wearing the damned leather jacket. He wanted to feel them against him, against his skin, in his hands, the stiffened peaks in his mouth.

He was fairly certain he was about to combust with just the thought alone.

Katniss’ hands reached up, curled around his neck, her fingers tangling in the curls at the back of his head, her nails scraping lightly against his scalp; he didn’t even think when he began to walk her backwards around the corner, pressed her against the exterior wall of the bakery.

He dragged his mouth away from hers, traced his lips hotly across her jaw, down to the juncture at her ear where he sucked gently at the skin - he felt her shiver, felt her hands tighten in his hair. Her breaths were hot against his ear, sighs that became mewls that became moans. He captured her mouth again, slid his hands up her sides until they were brushing the underside of her breasts, and her hips jerked against him once, twice, as they kissed until they were breathless.

Then she pulled her mouth away, lowered her hands to his chest and pressed them against him lightly.

He stepped back, watched as she touched the corner of her mouth with a fingertip, as she stared back at him uncertainly, as though she was studying him to find something, _anything_. And when she finally spoke, her voice was tight and hoarse. “I have to go. Good night, Peeta,” she muttered, stepping around him, and beginning to walk away. He watched, open mouthed, as she walked away from _him_.

“You can’t do that!” he yelled at her, his blood hot and racing and _jeez, could his jeans get any more tighter_?

She glanced over her shoulder, much like he had to her not even fifteen minutes earlier. “We’re not prepared for that yet,” she said firmly, before turning on her heel, and walking briskly down the street into the dark.

He watched her go, the realisation hitting him that he’d never met anyone like her. She was a one of a kind, and he wondered what the hell he was getting himself into.

And whether it would be worth the inevitable heartbreak.

********

_“She’s the one, Cinna. I’ve never met anyone like her.”_

_Sitting across from Peeta, the desk between them piled with the detailed plans for a private home construction, Cinna lifted his eyes._

_“It hasn’t been very long, Peet,” he said carefully._

_“That doesn’t matter. I love her. She loves me. Why should we wait?” Peeta twisted a pencil between his fingers, knowing that the support of Cinna meant more than anyone else with this.  He knew his father would be happy simply that he was settling down, and his mother would appreciate the social connections Cass had. But Cinna...it was his opinion that mattered most._

_“Is this something you want?”_

_“More than anything.”_

_“Then you’re right. Why should you wait?” Cinna agreed. “If you know, you know. Just let me know if you’d like me to go to Tiffany’s with you.”_

_Peeta looked down at the desk sheepishly. “I’ve, uh, got the ring already.”_

_Cinna blinked, then laughed. “Well, I’m not surprised. You have good instincts, have always followed that gut feeling. Cass is lovely, you guys make a good match.”_

_Peeta glanced back up, and grinned. “Then you’ll be my best man, right?”_

_Cinna eyes shone. “I’d be honoured.”_

********

It didn’t matter what the time was. There was really only one person he could call right now.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” he muttered over and over again as he tracked back and forth in front of his bedroom window, the one that opened up to the water below. In the dark of night, he couldn’t see it, but he could hear it, and it pounded furiously against the rocks, angry and vicious and relentless.

“Hello?” The voice that answered was tired, but not sleepy. _Thank god Cinna was a nightowl._

“It’s Peeta,” he started immediately. “And I kissed her. Or she kissed me. Or something.”

“What?” Cinna’s voice was confused, and in the background, Peeta could hear the abrupt noise of a tv being muted or turned off. “Peeta? What’s going on?”

“Katniss. We kissed.”

There was silence at the other end.

“Cinna? Did you hear me?”

“Oh, I heard you. I’m just recovering from a mild heart attack.”

“Haha,” Peeta muttered, then stopped, dropped his head against the cool window pane. “Shit, Cinna, what am I doing?”

“How about you start at the beginning, and tell me.”

So he did. He started with the dream, what had happened afterwards. Told Cinna about how she’d asked him out for a drink, and he’d gotten startled with her reference to the Stones. How she’d followed him outside, and one thing had led to another until they were practically grinding up against each other on Main Street. How she’d then turned and walked off on him.

He didn’t share that he’d had to take care of himself in the shower the minute he’d gotten home. He figured that was one thing Cinna didn’t need to know.

By the time he’d finished, Cinna was chuckling, and Peeta was indignant. “What’s so funny?” he demanded angrily.

He could practically see Cinna shaking his head over the phone. “Buddy, she just basically out-Peeta’d you.”

“I-” he started, and then he stopped. It was true. _She had_. “I...I have no idea what to do.”

Cinna sighed. “You like her. It’s obvious. And you promised me that you’d try to make some changes in your life. Why not start with her?”

He pressed his hand against the glass, watched his fingerprints remain behind when he pulled it away again. “I realised she’s not like anyone I’ve ever met," he started, ignoring Cinna’s question. "And look where that got me last time.”

“Peeta.” Cinna’s voice lowered, his tone softened. “Katniss and Cass aren’t the same people. Just because Cass cheated on you doesn’t mean that Katniss would if you allowed it to get that far.”

Peeta tried to bank down the feelings that always hit him when he thought about it. “She didn’t just cheat, Cinna. You know that. She broke us. And I didn’t even know it until it was done.”

“I know. But you just said Katniss is one of a kind. Which means she’s not likely to do what Cass did, okay?” He paused for a moment before continuing. “You’ve done a weird dance around this girl for months now. Just own it. You’ve kissed. Maybe you should see if anything...else can come of it.”

“Anything ‘else’? Is that Dad speak for sex, Cinna?”

His friend chuckled. “Oh boy. If I was a betting man, Peeta Mellark, I’d be betting on her all the way. Someone needs to keep you on your toes, and I think she’s the one to do it.”

“I don’t need anyone to do that.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

“Ok, I don’t need _her_ to do it.”

“I’m not so sure about that either.” He could hear the smile in Cinna’s voice. “Good night Peeta.”

And then there was nothing but the dial tone.

********

She’d been home by 11, but it had taken her hours before she’d fallen asleep. It was her own fault, she realised - she should have never run after him, should never have kissed him.

 _Kissed him_.

She’d eaten spoonfuls of ice cream right out of the carton as she’d replayed it over and over again in her head, then had done the same thing again while she’d lain in bed, staring blindly at the ceiling. She’d mused over it possibly being the best kiss she’d ever had in her life. Then she’d admitted she was kidding herself, that she didn’t even have to think about it - it _was_ the best kiss she’d ever had in her life. Hands down.

And that was why she’d had to walk away. Because looking at his face afterwards, after she’d pulled away, it was obvious he’d been as affected as she’d been. And neither of them had been prepared for that. Not something that hard, that fast, that strong.

Sometime after one, between thinking about his hands digging into her hips, and cursing the combination of ice-cream on a beer stomach, she finally fell asleep.

********

“Here. Drink this.”

Katniss turned at the sound of Finnick’s voice, saw the thick mug he held out to her, filled to the brim with hot chocolate. She grasped it gratefully, blew on the steaming liquid before raising it to her lips and sipping it.

“Thanks,” she murmured.

“No worries,” he replied, nudging her hip with his. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Katniss said, staring across the counter and out the windows at the front of the bakery. Even with the drizzle of rain, the street was bustling at this time of the morning on a Saturday, and she was thankful for the two minute reprieve. They’d been rushed off their feet so far, and she couldn’t wait for Rue to arrive at 9.

“You sure?”

“Yeah. Just a late night. Couldn’t sleep.” Then she glanced at Finnick, smiled wryly. “Though I guess I can’t complain. How many hours a night are you getting?”

He grimaced, ran a hand through the wayward bronze waves. “Nowhere near enough. But Annie’s got it even worse, so _I_ can’t complain either. Thank goodness for Peeta; I don’t know what we would have done without him. I can’t believe we were so stupid to think we’d be okay without the extra help.”

“You weren’t to know,” she shrugged, her stomach turning automatically at the mention of _his_ name. She couldn’t have been more thankful that he didn’t work Saturdays. “Everything worked out okay in the end.”

“Yeah, it did.” He looked up as the bell on the door chimed, and Florence Cartwright walked in, wearing a sweater the colour of autumn leaves and a beaming smile. “Morning Florence, how are you today?”

She threw her hands towards Finnick, wrapped him into a overpowering hug. “My baby’s getting married!” she crooned, then pulled away. “Delly got engaged last night, and we’re _so excited_!”

“That’s terrific news!” Finnick replied, gently extricating himself from her arms.

“Oh it _is_! She called me just after ten o’clock last night, and at first I was so worried that something was wrong - those late calls always make you worry, don’t they? Anyway, Thom asked her last night at dinner, and then she called us, and John wasn’t home, so then I had to wait for _him_ to get home to tell him because the stupid lug had left his cell at home and…” she trailed off, her cheeks pinkening. “Oh, and here I am rambling. I’m sorry, I’m just so excited!”

Katniss nodded. “Of course, Florence, it’s very exciting. Congratulations.”

Florence beamed as she turned to her. “Oh, and I think I should be congratulating you too, landing a good looking man like that!”

“Excuse me?” Both she and Finnick said it at the exact same moment, except he was curious, and she was horrified.

Florence was oblivious to both of their reactions.

“Oh, John told me when he got home last night that he saw you and that mysterious Mr Mellark at The Hob last night, and that you both scampered out of there quite quickly.” She winked slyly. “I must say, I was quite surprised, because he’s such an anti-social man, but-” She kept talking, but by then, Katniss had already tuned her out.

Because all she could see was Finnick’s wide, teasing grin as he leant one elbow on the counter. “Oh _really_ , Florence?” He stretched his legs out, crossed one over the other lazily. He glanced at Katniss, and she could see the surprise and amusement in his eyes before he looked back to the older woman. “Katniss never, ever kisses and tells. Why don’t you tell me more?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, for your comments and kudos - they are always appreciated so much!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under sponsormusings. :)


	11. Chapter 11

Katniss slammed the dishwasher door closed, angrily pressed the button on the wall that turned the main power to it off. Even hours later she couldn’t _believe_ what Finnick had done, how he’d acted, and had been stewing about it ever since. She’d tried her best to put on a happy face for the customers, but it hadn’t worked; her annoyance had shone through clear as day.  By midday, she’d bluntly told him she was working in the kitchen for the rest of her shift and had scrubbed every surface, every pot, every tray, to within an inch of its life in the time since.

And she couldn’t have been happier when the clock clicked over to two, when half an hour later she finally heard him say good-bye to Rue and lock and close the front door.

“Finnick, you asshole!” She threw the dishcloth in her hand at him the minute he pushed through the kitchen door, a grin on his face and a spring in his step.

“What? What? What did I do?” He said innocently, pulling his apron off from around his neck and balling it up in his hands. “I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“You know exactly what I mean,” she glowered, folding her arms across her chest. “This morning when you were out there embarrassing me and.... _encouraging_ that woman, over nothing!”

“Nothing?” Finnick raised an eyebrow wryly, tossed the apron on the counter.

“Nothing,” Katniss reiterated firmly. "It's just stupid small town gossip!"

"If you say so," he said calmly.

"Of course I say so! Who are you going to believe? Me? Or Busybody Cartwright?”

He lowered himself onto one of the stools beside the bench. “Well, from what I know of the two of you...I think neither of you are telling me the complete truth. Florence, because she heard second hand from her husband who is just as much of a gossip as she is, and has embellished his stories for as long as I can remember. I’ve heard more of his ‘I caught a fish _this big_ ’ stories to last me a lifetime. And then you, because if there wasn’t a shred of truth to her comments, you wouldn’t have holed yourself up in the kitchen and acted like a prickly teenager all day.”

“It was nothing,” Katniss stressed, though the heat from her voice had all but gone. Now that she’d roused at him, she was at a loss of what else to say.

_Especially because she knew he was right._

Finnick shrugged nonchalantly, pulled a ziplock bag from the back pocket of his jeans, and spilled that days receipts and takings onto the counter. “Okay then, I believe you. I just need to sort this out, make sure everything squares up. Rue already helped me close up out front, so you can go if you want.”

Katniss brow furrowed at the quick change of topic. “Oh. Alright. I guess I will.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you Monday.”

She pulled her own apron off, headed towards the door, thankful that he’d let it drop so easily. Then, before she could even comprehend what she was doing, she spun back on her heel again. “Dammit! Finnick, I kissed him.”

“Aha!” Finnick slammed his palms on the counter and whirled in his seat to face her, smiling broadly. “I knew it, I knew it!”

“Odair,” she hissed. “I should have known you were playing me. _Shit._ ”

“Oh come on, Katniss,” he sing-songed. “Just tell me.”

“I don’t want you to make a big deal, a big song and dance about it. Which is _exactly_ why I wasn’t going to say anything.”

The money on the counter temporarily forgotten, and his gaze fixed firmly on her, Finnick hooked his feet around the legs of the stool. “Just tell me how much of what Florence said was true.”

Katniss rolled her eyes, leant against the wall beside the door. “Yes, we were at The Hob. Yes we had a few beers. No, we weren’t _‘canoodling_ ’ in the back booth, nor did we run out of there with our hands practically all over each other. We talked-”

“About?”

“Nothing. Boring stuff,” Katniss replied, narrowing her eyes. “And shut up and let me finish.”

“Sorry.”

“We talked about nothing, and then I quoted some lyrics from the Stones, and he lost his shit and ran out, and because that’s damn well rude, I chased after him and one thing led to another and…”

“The Stones?”

“Long story, and I’m not even going there.”

“Alright, alright. So one thing led to another and what?”

Katniss chewed on her lower lip and studied the way Finnick looked at her, so interested in what she was saying. She knew part of it was sheer nosiness, but the other...it was because he cared, he cared about what was going on in her life, about what was happening. He was like the brother she’d never had, she realised, but better. Because there was no way in hell she’d ever be able to speak to a brother about this kind of stuff. And, she admitted, part of her wanted to. She’d kept to herself for so many years that finding Finnick and Annie had been a godsend.

She studied her fingernails as though they were the most important thing she’d ever seen. “We kissed, that’s all. We kissed.”

“Was it any good?”

“Shit, Finnick, really? You _really_ want to know that?”

He chuckled. “Of course. Because I’m going to go home and tell Annie, and you know she’ll ask me.”

She felt her cheeks burn, but knew that was exactly what would happen, knew it would the minute she’d admitted to the kiss. “Yeah, okay. It was good. And I’m not saying anything more.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Do you…”

“Do I what?”

A sense of discomfort crossed his face, as though he didn’t really want to ask the next question. “Do you want more from him?”

Katniss rolled her eyes. “It was just a _kiss_ , Finn.”

He uncurled his feet from around the stool, rose to his feet and crossed to her, resting his hands on her shoulders. His voice had lost all its previous playfulness, and was now serious. “Kitty Kat, you’ve been here for a while now, and I’ve not seen you look at a guy twice, let alone kiss one. And Peeta...hell, he was a virtual stranger until the last few months. I’m just asking because somehow, for some reason, the two of you have connected. And I get the feeling that neither of you do that lightly.”

She avoided his gaze, trained it just over his shoulder. “I don’t know. I like him - I’m fairly certain Annie’s told you that - and I’m really attracted to him. But...”

His finger reached down, tipped up her chin until she was forced to look up to him. “Quit kidding yourself Katniss. No more ‘buts’.  It’s all over your face. Why don’t you just admit it?”

“I…” she trailed off. “I don’t know.”

“Then figure it out. And once you do, let me know, so I can have a chat to him.”

“A chat?” her eyes widened, and she shrugged his hand off her shoulder. “What _kind_ of chat?”

“Welllllll,” he dragged out, then winked. “Someone’s gonna have to ask him about his intentions, right?” He turned back to the counter, dropped onto the stool and began sorting out the money.

“I will _kill_ you,” Katniss hissed.

“Love you too, sugar,” he quipped, and kept on counting.

********

The clouds above were grey and heavy and foreboding, a breeze whirling around him as Peeta ran down the beach, his pace steady and his arms pumping with every step.

Regardless of the weather, he’d needed to run.

Working in the bakery had put paid to many of the early morning runs he’d once enjoyed, so the days he could make it out onto the beach - regardless of the time - he took advantage of it. And knowing the weather would keep most people inside today, he’d headed out.  To clear his head.

Because since his conversation on the phone with Cinna the night before, the same memory had wound its way through his head over and over again.

_“Peeta, what did you find?”_

_His throat caught, even while the anger welled.  “Photos. Letters. Things...things not from me.”_

_His father’s voice was laced with confusion. “What do you mean?”_

_Peeta slid to the ground, his head dropping back to hit against the wall. The alcohol that had kept him going back in Cass’s office was beginning to wear off, and exhaustion was setting in. “She had a box, Dad. A box of...keepsakes, or something. And there were photos of her...with someone who wasn’t me.”_

_He heard the sharp intake of breath. “Peeta...are you telling me Cass was seeing someone else?”_

_Peeta laughed in response this time, and it was sharp and bitter and angry. “Not even just someone else. I know him. He works at her fucking firm, for crying out loud.”_

_Adrian Gloss, a slick, shiny up-and-comer, with chiselled good looks, meticulously styled hair and suits that were tailored to perfection. The very guy who everyone had joked resembled Cass enough that they could almost be brother and sister._

_But while they weren’t related, there had obviously been a lot more going on than anyone knew._

_“Peeta, I’m so sorry. So soon after…”_

_“After she died?” He shook his head angrily, though he knew his father couldn’t see it. “I mean, it’s not like I have enough to deal with, is it? I bury my wife, only to find out she’d been fucking some other guy.”_

_“Are you...are you sure that it was that? Maybe they were just friends.”_

_“Friends don’t take naked photos together, Dad. At least I never have.”_

_The voice at the other end went quiet, and though there were miles between them, two Mellark men were thinking the exact same thing. How?_

_“I don’t know what to say,” Nolan said hollowly._

_“Neither do I,” Peeta muttered. “But what I do know is that I can’t trust anyone again. How can I? This has been going on for months, and I’ve been oblivious.”_

_“You can trust people, Peeta, I promise. You’re still hurting. It will get better, I promise.”_

It had taken him six years to get there, but he was _this much_ closer to knowing that his father and Cinna were right. Things could get better, they could be good again. And Cinna had said it himself. Katniss wasn’t Cass any more than Cass was Katniss.

He knew he had to see her.

Peeta continued to run, and didn’t even care when the clouds opened, and the rain poured down on him.

********

When she’d first moved to Quarter Mile Bay, Katniss had set up a simple day bed and a desk in the small second bedroom, the sashed window overlooking the garden in the back. The previous owners had lovingly cultivated beds full of seasonal flowers, with a small herb garden, and though her knowledge of plants had been more medicinal than purely for the purpose of looking pretty, she’d maintained it. Sae had helped some with the flowers - so she knew what to plant when, and whether it was best in the shade or full sun - but the herb garden had been like second nature to her. Her mother’s interest in natural medicine and healing had, even without trying, sunk into her over her formative years.

But right now, over the rim of her laptop, Katniss stared out at the garden blooming with purple delphiniums and orange and yellow snapdragons that she knew wouldn’t last for much longer, and thought about what she’d just typed. What she’d just admitted to. To the one person who couldn’t reply.

The first few times she’d done it, she’d done so guiltily. She’d felt stupid, almost as though someone would walk in at any moment and tell her that what she was doing was pointless, was crazy. But she’d found the only thing that had helped her fill the hole her sister’s death had left inside of her was to talk to her as though she was still there.

So she’d begun to send her emails.

Sometimes she could go without weeks without writing one, others, there would be two or three a week that she’d send out into the ether. It wasn’t so much a part of the healing process for her anymore, but she continued to do it. Part of her, deep down, still thought that if she stopped this, the connection she’d had with Prim would be gone forever. So she kept sending them, sharing about the mundane, about life in QMB, about her friends, about what television show she was currently hooked on.

But this email was different. And Katniss knew it.

Cupping her hands around the mug of hot chocolate she cradled, she lowered her gaze and scanned her eyes over the words she’d poured out in a rush.

_I like him._

_It’s pretty ridiculous, really. He’s rude, and kind of arrogant, and sometimes really insensitive. But other times he seems gentle, and concerned, and charming, and the arrogance simply becomes a confidence of someone who knows what they’re doing, and know they can do it well._

_I kissed him last night, and it was the first kiss I’ve had since I left Gale. I’m not going to describe how it made me feel, because you’re still my little sister, and I swear that babies come from storks. But...let’s just say it was ridiculously good. And I know he was as affected by it as I was._

_I never told you much about Gale and I. I know I told you the basics, but I never really felt the need to expand on anything about how I felt about him, and us. I suppose looking back now, it kind of explains itself. We were too much alike, both of us too fiery to balance the other out. Maybe we would have been better just as friends all along. I’d prefer that to what we have now - a stilted, text-on-a-birthday friendship. But I suppose that’s better than nothing, right?_

_I’m afraid that if something were to really happen between Peeta and I, and it ended badly between us, there would be no in-between. It would be all or nothing._

_And I’m not sure I like the idea of that._

_Is that weird?_

Even through the pounding rain and being lost in her own thoughts, she could hear the knock on her front door, a steady and rhythmic succession of raps. She tucked her braid over her shoulder, glanced at the clock. It was still only 5pm, but with the low light from the cloud cover, it felt like hours later.

Katniss padded barefoot down the hall, tucked her hands into the pockets of the hooded sweatshirt she wore, and wondered what kind of idiot would be out in this weather. And then, when she ducked into the front room quickly to take a quick peek out the window, she realised she should have known.

With nerves springing to life in her belly, she moved to the front door, began to unlock it. She swung it open slowly, almost hesitantly, then rested a palm against the frame.

"Hi," she said simply, thankful that her voice was steady and straight and belied whatever the hell it was that she was feeling.

“Can I come in?” Peeta's hair was wet, and it stuck to his head in a darkened mop of waves. His clothes were drenched, and water dripped steadily on her small front porch from the bottom of the running shorts and windbreaker he wore.

“Were you out running in this weather?” Katniss asked by way of reply, glancing out to where the rain was teeming down behind him, blanketing the street in a sea of grey.

“It wasn’t raining when I started,” Peeta replied with a shrug.

“You know what The Weather Channel is, right?”

“I even know who Al Roker is, so yeah, I know how to find out the weather. I just didn’t care.”

Katniss snorted, then shook her head. The voice inside of her screaming that it was a bad idea was quickly overpowered by the voice that was curious about him showing up on her porch, unannounced.

"I won't stay long," he muttered. "I just figured we need to clear the air about last night."

She swallowed heavily - despite the fact that it had been on her mind all day, she’d almost expected him to pretend it hadn’t happened. Apparently, she’d been wrong. Opening her door wider, she gestured into her small foyer. "Then by all means, come in. But take those sopping shoes off first."

Peeta shrugged, toed off his shoes and peeled off socks that were soaked with water and dropped them to the ground.  He walked past her into the front hall, then turned to her, as though waiting for her next instruction. She pointed down the hall, crooking her finger to the left.

“Head down there to the kitchen,” Katniss told him as she closed and locked the door behind her. She heard his footsteps move down the hall, but kept her eyes focused on the door, dropping her forehead to it lightly.

Peeta being in her small cottage made her nervous.

********

Her place was simple - clean lines, little fuss. As he’d walked past, he’d caught a glimpse of a small, cozy front room with a wide green sofa piled with pillows, a crackling fireplace that filled the small house with warmth, and a plush rug the colour of eggshells.

It was, without a doubt _hers_.

“Take a seat,” Katniss told him firmly, gesturing towards the small table she had tucked into the corner as she strode through the wide doorway and headed straight for the row of appliances on the counter. “Do you want a coffee?”

“Uh, I’d rather have a tea, if that’s alright? Milk, no sugar?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him, and shrugged. “Sure.”

He dropped into one of the two seats, watched as she pottered around the small kitchen. Just like at work, she was efficient - she didn’t waste a movement, everything was smooth, practiced, and for a purpose. It didn’t take long until a steaming mug was placed on the table, and Katniss was seated across from him.

And neither of them said a word.

They both sipped at drinks that were still really too hot to swallow, and Peeta marvelled at how the ease they’d finally managed to achieve at the bar the night before had disappeared. Maybe, he mused, because the air was thick with the nerves and tension that inevitably followed an unexpected kiss.

“So Christmas isn’t far away,” Katniss blurted, and Peeta smiled to himself behind the mug as he raised it to his lips. _Yeah, okay. He could play this game too._

"Only a couple of weeks," he agreed.

"Going out of town?"

Peeta shrugged. "I visited my family last week for Thanksgiving, so I think I'll stay here." He didn't tell her it was because going home twice within a month was probably more than he was prepared for. That while his family had been overjoyed to finally have him join them for Thanksgiving for the first time in years, the constant attention from his parents had made him thankful he'd had a proposal to work on that meant his stay wasn’t for long. That the 48 hour round trip had been enough to appease his family - and just enough to remind him that his mother still expected grandchildren one day.

_That ship had sailed a long time ago._

"Oh. Is that- are they, uh, very far from here?"

Peeta raised an eyebrow. "About 6 hours.  A small town in northern Pennsylvania." He sipped at his tea, then placed it back on the table. "You? Staying here for the holidays?"

"Yep," she replied quickly.

"And Finnick and Annie?"

She tapped her fingers against the handle of her mug. "They're headed down to Georgia. His mother is from there, so they're going to visit extended family for the week the bakery is closed."

"And then once they're back, I finish up."

"Uh-huh."

Suddenly he realised there had been one question he’d wanted to ask her since the minute she’d approached him about working in the bakery. He leant forward, resting his elbows on the worn wooden surface of the table. "You’ve never really liked me working in the bakery, have you?"

Katniss blinked in confusion. "Wait, what?"

"You don't like me working in the bakery." This time he made it a statement, not a question.

“Where did this come from? Just...what?”

“I’m just curious. Because it was pretty obvious from the start you didn’t want me there.”

Her eyes narrowed. "You want the truth?"

"Yeah."

She shrugged. "No, I didn't. You're rude, and dismissive and I didn't think you were a good fit. Plus..."

"Plus?"

“I don’t deal well with change,” she muttered. “Is that okay with you?” She rose awkwardly to her feet, crossed to the sink and stared out the window blindly.

For a moment he just watched her - the stiffness of her back, the tension of her fingers as they gripped her upper arms - and realised he hadn't expected her reaction. Well, he'd expected the rude, but not this. Not the discomfort that emanated from her in waves.

There was definitely more to Katniss Everdeen than met the eye. Just like Cinna had told him once before, what felt like a lifetime ago.

_She hides it well, but she's got that thick exterior to mask it._

He rose to join her, and at first, he didn’t say anything, simply looked out at the window with her, hands shoved in the damp pockets of his running shorts. Finally, he cleared his throat.

“I’m sorry.”

Katniss pursed her lips together, shook her head. “I don’t need you to be sorry.”

“Will you just take my apology? I don’t give them very often,” Peeta said shortly.

“Fine. I accept.” Then she sighed. "Look, I don't hate you working there anymore, okay? You do great work, and...you've helped Finnick and Annie a lot. That's what counts."

He continued to stare out the window, at the riot of late blooming flowers barely holding up under the rain. "It hasn't been all fun and games for me working with you either, you know." Katniss didn't say anything, so he ploughed ahead. “I don’t want to like you.”

Her head spun towards him so fast, he swore it swivelled on her shoulders. “Well, that’s possibly the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard.”

He smirked. “I’m serious. I really don’t. But it doesn’t stop me from doing so. Doesn’t stop me from thinking about you more than I should. In ways that I probably shouldn’t.”

Katniss ran a hand across her face, shaking her head in confusion. “This is the most absurd conversation I’ve ever had. One minute we’re talking about Christmas, the next you’re asking me why I hate you working in the bakery, and _then_ you’re telling me you think about me.”

“I guess I figured there was no point in pretending anymore. Especially not after last night.”

Katniss eyed him carefully, and he could tell she was sizing him up, measuring his words. “No, I guess not,” she finally replied.

He turned to her, rested a hip against the counter, waited for her to practically mirror his pose before speaking. “I’m not looking for anything serious.”

Katniss scoffed. “Neither am I.”

“But I’m not looking for a one-night stand either.”

“I don’t do one-night stands.”

He unfolded his arms, shrugging his shoulders and lifting his palms up. “We’re just two people who have a really strange and unexplained attraction to each other.”

“Unexplained is definitely the way to put it.” She took a deep breath, reached up and pushed her braid off her shoulder. “Alright then, so what do we do about it?”

“Well for starters…” he stepped forward, until he was all but lined up against her. “We could kiss again. That was pretty good, wouldn’t you agree?”

“It was...pleasant,” she replied flippantly, but he could see the glint in her eye.

“Pleasant.”

“That’s how I remember it.”

“Then maybe I need to remind you otherwise.” He leant forward, pressed his lips to hers softly, tentatively at first. Completely different to the fiery, hurried kisses they’d started with the night before. His hand slid behind her neck, his fingers reaching into her hair and tugging it slightly, so her head tipped back.

And _then_ he kissed her like he wanted to kiss her. His mouth slanting over hers, and his arm banding around her waist, and his tongue darting into her mouth, and feeling her murmurs as she kissed him back, as her fingers gripped at the hem of his shirt. He yanked her even closer, so he could feel her hips jerk against his, and he groaned into her mouth.

Katniss bit down gently on his lower lip, and he was certain that if he was sixteen, he would have exploded in his pants right then and there. But because he wasn’t, and he had no intentions of blowing his load in her kitchen, he pulled away slightly, breathing heavy and erratic. And this time, when he locked heavy-lidded eyes with hers, she didn’t look away like she was so often prone to.

“Thanks for the reminder,” Katniss murmured, and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, as always for reading, for your comments and kudos. I appreciate them so much :)


	12. Chapter 12

Winter hit, and hit hard, on the second Wednesday in December. Before then, the snow had done nothing more than tease, a little fall in the middle of the night, a soft sprinkling of an afternoon, just enough to frustrate parents during the afternoon school pick up. There were grumbles and worries about winter never truly arriving, and if Katniss had to hear one more person complain about the possibility of there not being snow on Christmas, she was going to beat her head against the wall. Of  _course_  they were going to get snow. Probably mountains of it.

And of course, she was right.

It coated the roads, the sidewalk, her garden, her roof. Rather than complaints about 'no proper winter', she instead now had dozens of people reminding her that it was  _a wee bit nippy outside_ , even though it was obvious from the way she could barely see out of the bakery window from the weather. At night, she would huddle under a thick, fluffy quilt, the pale green fabric drawn up to her chin while she wished for better heating. She shivered at dawn, cursing the brisk half a dozen block walk she needed to take to get to the bakery, where at least Finnick or Peeta would already have the warmth up to ridiculous proportions by the time she walked in. She'd wear big, thick jackets that made her feel like the Michelin Man, and she'd wrap the scarf the Odairs had surprised her with the Christmas before - in a ridiculously cheery snowflake and reindeer pattern that she hid by twisting it into oblivion - around her neck and chin until she could barely breathe.

It was only times like these, when it felt like her fingers would fall off from the cold, that she missed home.

 _Old home_ , she corrected herself mentally, as she turned her key in the lock of the bakery front door with fingers fat from her gloves, and welcomed the warmth that lay beyond. And it was quiet, which was blessedly what she needed. Along with a coffee, because a hot chocolate was just  _not_  going to cut it this morning. Not after last night.

The call had been unexpected, and the ensuing conversation had been one that she couldn't shake, one that had kept her awake half the night. A conversation that still sat at the forefront of her mind, niggling away at her needlessly.

********

_The vibration was short and sharp as her phone skittered across the small end table beside her sofa. Keeping her eyes on the tv screen, and the argument that was going on between two of the lead characters, she didn't even glance at the caller ID. It was only going to be Annie anyway, furious at the scene that was being played out. This - calls at night during their Netflix catchups, about fictional people she scoffed at more than anything - was exactly why she'd promised herself she'd never get sucked into a tv series._

_And it was exactly why she had._

_She slid her finger nonchalantly across the screen to answer, then sighed deeply. "Annie, you know I don't care about this guy, right?"_

_"Katniss?"_

_Katniss._

_One simple word, and it was like being transported a year into the past._

_The first few calls between she and Gale after she'd left Panem had been volatile, angry. He'd bitterly resented her that she'd left him 'high and dry', as he'd put it; she'd yelled at him for not being understanding, for being blind to the obvious fact that they hadn't been working. It had taken at least two months before they'd finally come to their tentative truce, before Gale had understood - really understood - why she'd left. And since then, they hadn't spoken, just a text on each other's birthday, and one she sent him to wish his mother a happy 50th._

_Three texts in ten months._

_"Hi Gale," she replied cautiously, lifting the remote to mute the television. "Is everything alright?"_

_He laughed awkwardly. "Why would anything be wrong?"_

_"We haven't talked to each other in months," Katniss said. She sat up, heard the remote fall from her lap onto the ground with a thunk. The sound, for some reason, was satisfying. "So I'm curious."_

_She heard a rustle of papers, the squeak of a fridge door opening. "Okay, fair call. It's nothing really, but...I figured I should tell you myself."_

_"Tell me what?" Lead began to line her stomach. Was he dying? Was his mom dying? Was he moving to Antarctica? Was he-_

_"I'm getting married."_

_Her jaw dropped._

_This was not what she expected._

_"Katniss? Are you there?"_

_She nodded before she remembered he couldn't see her over the phone. "Yeah, I'm fine. Why?"_

_"You didn't say anything."_

_"You just told me you're getting married - what do you want me to say?"_

_She could practically hear Gale's growl of dissatisfaction down the phone. "A congratulations might be nice."_

_"Congratulations," she replied, and she could hear the scorn in his response._

_"Sincerity was always your strong point."_

_Katniss dropped her head to the back of the sofa. "What are you trying to say, Gale?"_

_"I just called you to tell you I was getting married."_

_"Great, awesome," she said, with no inflection or enthusiasm._

_"Geez, Katniss, could you be any more excited?"_

_She sighed, and her response was sharp. "Look, I don't know what you want from me. We haven't spoken in months, and now out of the blue, you want me to be swinging from a chandelier in celebration of your announcement?"_

_"Do you have to be so rude about it?"_

_"Do you have to be such an asshole about it?"_

_Gale hissed through his teeth. "Wow, this call went downhill quick. What the hell is your problem? I was just letting you know, out of courtesy or some shit. I don't know why I bothered."_

_Katniss closed her eyes with a sigh. She wished she knew. She wished she knew why she was so offended, why she was so...hurt. She was the one who'd walked out on him, she was the one who'd ended it, voluntarily. Now she was the one being pissy about him getting married. "Nothing," she finally muttered, opening her eyes again and willing the sudden annoyance that had bubbled up inside of her to subside. "Nothing. I'm sorry. Anyway, who is she? Do I know her?"_

_"Ahhhhh-"_

_"Well that's a yes."_

_He coughed lightly, and this time it sounded nervous. "Ah, it's, ah, Jo."_

_Katniss could feel her eyebrows draw together in confusion. "Jo? As in my old roommate, Jo?"_

_"Yeah."_

_Katniss paused rubbed her temple with her forefinger. "Did Jo move back to Panem?"_

_"Yeah. In February."_

_"In February," Katniss replied dumbly. "And you've been dating her since then."_

_"Since April."_

_"April. And you're getting married already."_

_She could practically hear him shrug over the phone, and she imagined him rubbing a hand over his short crop of black hair absently. "When you know, you know, I guess."_

_Like they'd both obviously known, in the almost two years that they'd spent together, that they hadn't been right enough to ever consider traversing down that path._

_"Anyway," he said, clearing his throat. "Um, how are you?"_

_"I'm fine," Katniss said, almost dismissively. Did he really want to 'chat' now?_

_"How's work at that store?"_

_"The bakery. It's fine. Good. Fine."_

_"Are you...are you seeing anyone?"_

_Katniss raised her fingertips to her lips, traced them around the edge. Were she and Peeta 'seeing' each other? Was that how she'd define it? How Peeta would define it?_

_"There's a guy," she started slowly. "But...it's nothing serious. We're just hanging out occasionally."_

_"Oh. Well that's good, I guess."_

_"Yeah."_

_Then there was silence, neither of them with anything else to say._

_"I, uh, have to go," Gale blurted. "And if I don't speak to you before then...Merry Christmas, Katniss."_

_She knew they wouldn't speak before then._

_"Merry Christmas, Gale."_

_********_

She silently padded over to behind the front counter, tugging off her gloves and unwrapping her scarf as she went, bending her knees slightly to drop them and her bag on the second shelf. She knew that Peeta was on today - even without knowing the schedule, the lack of late 90s pop blasting from the kitchen was a dead giveaway that Finnick had gotten a sleep-in - but she wasn't up to going through to see him yet. Not when Gale's words still stuck with her.

_Are you seeing anyone?_

Shrugging out of her jacket and grabbing a new bag of coffee beans from the drawer under the machine, Katniss absently began to pour the beans in.

Sure, Peeta had shown up at her house last Saturday, dripping wet and curious about the night before, and had ended up kissing her in the middle of her kitchen. She'd kissed him back, until they'd both been breathless, and the faint brush of his fingertips over the small of her back had alerted her to the fact that he was freezing.

Like, purple nails, blue skin, teeth chattering-ly freezing.

She'd roused at him then, told him he was stupid for running out in the rain in a thin pair of shorts like a maniac. She'd forced hot cups of tea on him, wrapped a blanket around his shoulders, and made him sit in front of her fireplace. And all along, he'd glowered at her, told her to stop treating him like a kid.

But he never made a move to leave, never refused a mug she handed to him, until they both agreed he no longer resembled an ice-cube. Only then did he walk out her front door with nothing more than a nod of his head, and a promise that he'd go straight home and dress more appropriately.

The cold had been like a wet blanket on the hot kisses they'd shared.

In the week since, they'd danced around each other at work. Katniss was careful for nothing to show when Finnick or Rue were around, but there were times when she'd glance through the kitchen porthole, only to catch Peeta looking out from his spot at the centre island, his arms wrist deep in dough, streaks of flour dotting the sleeves of his shirt. They'd stare at each other until a throat would clear, and Katniss would whirl around, to see Finnick, or Florence, or -  _oh god, even worse, Haymitch_  - smirking at her.

Once, she'd ventured into the back pantry, needing to restock the tea supply, when she'd felt him come up behind her. His body had felt strong and broad and hot as he'd leant into her, his arm reaching above her head until his elegant fingers -  _ok, so maybe she'd spent a lot of time thinking about his hands lately_  - closed around a large jar of honey. He'd apologised, a deep, throaty sorry that hadn't sounded the least bit sorry at all, his hand skimming down her side until he'd stepped away and left her alone in a pantry that had suddenly felt thick with tension.

They'd kissed again, once hidden behind a tree that lined the beach road when they'd inadvertently gone on a run at the same time, just before the snow had set in, and another only the afternoon before, when he'd cornered her in the kitchen 5 minutes before he was due to clock off, with the knowledge Finnick could walk in any minute. He hadn't, but Katniss had been surprised to find that the thrill of the possibility of being discovered was something that had thrummed under her skin for hours.

But  _seeing each other_? She didn't know if casual kisses and an agreement for nothing serious equated to seeing each other.

"Katniss?"

 _Speak of the devil._  She turned slowly to face the kitchen entrance as she flipped the switch on the grinder, the sound and immediate scent of coffee permeating the store front.

"Morning, Peeta," she said quietly. "Everything going alright in there?"

He nodded, shoved his hands in the front pocket of his - Annie's - apron. "Pretty much all done."

"That's good."

"Yeah."

Katniss moved around the counter and headed to the first of half a dozen tables, began turning over chairs that had been packed up for the night, and tucking them under the lovingly polished wooden table tops.

Okay, maybe she did need the noise today. Because for some reason, her throat had completely seized up, and for the first time in awhile, she found herself unable to speak to Peeta, not even to bicker.

"Is everything alright?"

"I just didn't sleep well."  _It was, technically, the truth._

"Is that all?"

"Yes," she snapped, then sighed, turned to face him. "Sorry. Yes, that's all."

Peeta nodded once, his face free from any indication as to what he was thinking. "Call out when we open," he said simply, then disappeared back into the kitchen.

If anything else, she had to appreciate the fact that Peeta never, ever pried.

********

_"What do you want to know?" The final word came out like a giggle, and as he laid his lips on her neck, dragging his teeth gently across the soft skin, the giggle slowly turned into a moan._

_"Everything," he murmured._

_Cass slid her hands into his hair, tugged slightly. "But you already know everything - my favourite colour, my favourite tv show, hell, you even know how which sorority sisters I hated."_

_"Purple, Gilmore Girls, Glimmer Roberts and Clove Anderson," he replied promptly into the curve of her neck, and she laughed._

_"See, Peeta? You already know everything about me."_

_He lifted his head then, his blue eyes sparking with desire and flirtation. "So what you're saying is, you don't have any secrets."_

_"I don't have any secrets," Cass confirmed, leaning up slightly to press her lips to his, her hips shifting languidly at the same time._

_"Then no more prying from me."_

_"You're not prying, Peeta, you're just being curious, and I'm perfectly fine with that. But speaking of prying..." she wriggled under his suggestively. "The only prying you'll need to do is my hands from this headboard later, after you've exhausted me and I can't move," she teased._

_Peeta laughed, reached up to clasp one of her hands in his. "Now there's something to look forward to."_

********

Cass had assured him so confidently that he knew everything about her, that in the end, he'd simply accepted it. She'd share work stories without hesitation, come home from a night drinking with her girlfriends and regale him with whatever adventures they'd been on. She'd bitch about her younger sister without qualm, and even admitted to him - without prompting - that she'd become addicted to Gossip Girl. Late nights at the office were explained by big cases that he knew were on her plate, 10pm phone calls had always been her girlfriend with the douchebag boyfriend. She'd always been so open about everything, that he'd never suspected otherwise.

Though looking back now, Peeta wished he had.

It still didn't change the fact that he hadn't pressed Katniss any further with what was wrong that morning - obviously more than a lack of sleep, he'd worked with her enough now to have some kind of an idea of her moods - and wondered whether he should have. Unlike Cass, she wasn't as open with her thoughts, or what was going on with her. There were still times when he thought back to their first encounter in the bakery, the first time he'd seen that melancholy look in her eyes. The way Cinna had picked up on it also, said there was more to her than what met the eye. He knew, without a doubt, that there were pockets of Katniss that were still like a closed book to him, and he wondered if he'd ever discover them. Whether she'd want him to.

Whether he'd want to.

"Miles away, boy. Anyone would think you were daydreaming."

Peeta glanced up from where he was meticulously placing small silver balls onto the birthday cake of Old Sae's granddaughter, then dismissed the old judge almost immediately.

"What are you doing out here, Haymitch?"

"Katniss let me through."

"Oh did she now?"

Haymitch snorted, rocked back on his heels. "Of course she didn't. She's serving a customer and I slipped on through."

"That sounds more like it. What are you doing out here?"

"Figured I'd pop on by, see how my favourite co-NYC-expat was doing."

Peeta felt his throat close up slightly. "I'm fine. You can go now."

Haymitch sidled up to the bench, reached his hand out to swipe a custard filled donut that sat on the tray beside Peeta. He cursed, blew on his fingertips as he tossed it from hand to hand. "Shit, that's hot!"

"Because it just came out of the oven, Sherlock. You gonna pay for that?"

Haymitch rolled his eyes, then took a bite, hissing with a combination of the heat and appreciation. A drop of creamy yellow custard dropped onto the lapel of the vest he wore, but he either didn't notice or didn't care - it sat there like a beacon on the dark grey wool. "Damn if you can't bake. And yeah, add it to my tab. Sweetheart knows all about it."

"Course she does."

"It'll be shame when you and your sunny disposition are done here. I'm gonna miss these, at least." He held up the donut in a mock toast.

Peeta shrugged absently, then straightened up. "It was only temporary, Haymitch, and I need to get back to focusing on just my own work again."

"You gonna do that NYC gig?"

Peeta's jaw tightened. "I haven't thought about it any more."

"Bullshit."

"Okay, I've thought about it a lot. Is that what you want to hear?"

"Yes." Haymitch shoved the rest of the donut into his mouth, chewed and swallowed half of it before he began speaking again. "Well, I'd rather hear  _yes you're going to do it_ , but I'll take you thinking about it."

Peeta turned around and headed over to the sink, stripping off his gloves and washing his hands furiously. "I should never have told you about it."

" _You_  didn't, remember? I had to hear about it from her." Haymitch jerked his thumb over his shoulder, back towards where Katniss was out in the shopfront.

"Then why are you at me to do this? Why do you you keep asking about it?"

"Because," Haymitch said simply, as though it was the only answer Peeta needed.

"You sure you don't have any kids? Because that's a prime parent response."

"If I do, I'm yet to hear about 'em."

"Is there any other reason you're here, other than to bother me?"

"You're here for Christmas, right?"

"What? Yes." His reply was cautious and careful, from the abrupt change in topic.

"Come have an afternoon drink with me. We'll spike eggnog and tea and curse at the fire like old men."

"You are an old man."

"Watch it, kiddo. So?"

Peeta turned to him, wiped his hands on the dishcloth shoved into the waistband of his jeans. "You want me to come spend Christmas with you?"

"Just an hour or something. I'm certain that anything more than that exceeds our social patience."

Peeta snorted, leant back against the sink. He could feel droplets of water seeping into the hem of his t-shirt, but he ignored it. "Alright. One hour. A drink. No presents."

Haymitch snorted. "Presents? You gotta be kidding me. I'll see you next week. 2pm."

"On the 25th," Peeta agreed, and watched Haymitch meander out as though he had all the time in the world.

********

She'd left it late, Katniss knew she had. But late was better than never. And over the last few days, it held felt right to do. She wasn't sure what it was, but something had settled inside her, something told her it was okay.

The star on top glittered madly, and she knew Prim would have loved it.

Feeling happily accomplished with the tree that now took up most of the corner of her front room, Katniss sank down gratefully into the deep cushions of her sofa, tugged her laptop onto her thighs before opening it.

_Hey,_

_It's the weekend before Christmas._

_I know you loved Christmas, it was always one of your favourites. All the presents, and the tree, and that damned Jessica Simpson Christmas album I wish Mom had never bought you. You played it constantly those last few years, and I felt like it made my ears bleed. But I put up with it, because you loved everything about December and the holidays; I loved it mostly because you did._

_You know I didn't put up a tree last year - I was too new here, still staying at that B and B I told you about. Plus I didn't think I had it in me. I'd just left Panem, left Gale, started over._

_You weren't here._

_But there's one up this year; it felt right. I picked silver and blue for the decorations, just like Mom and Dad always did. "For your eyes, my pretty girls," Dad would always say. You remember that? It's always one of my favourite memories._

_Anyway, a funny thing happened last week. Gale called, completely out of the blue, told me he was getting married - married, can you believe it?! I wasn't sure how I felt at first; I was kind of snarky to him on the phone, but I mean, what did he want me to say? Yippee?!_

_It took me a few days to figure out how I felt about it, but in the end, I realised the main feeling I had was...relief. Relief that it wasn't me, that I'd ended it before it got to that. Then, I realised I hated that he'd been able to move on and here I was barely able to let a guy who I'm attracted to, who intrigues me on pretty much every level, whether they're right and wrong, any closer than to have a casual kiss._

_I always figured I wasn't built for love, wasn't built for what Mom and Dad had. And maybe I'm not, and that's fine if that's the case. But is it supposed to be this hard if I just want to have a little fun with someone, just for a little while?_

_I know if you were here, you'd tell me to let down my defenses and just do it. At 16, you were so much smarter than me, so much more attuned to those around you. So assured about what you wanted to do with your life._

_I'm 26, and I think you had your shit together better back then than what I do now._

********

Peeta's final week in the bakery went quickly. He'd agreed to pick up a couple of extra shifts at various times of the day, mostly to help the Odairs out with the Christmas rush on cakes and puddings and his now infamous cinnamon buns, but also to torment himself with the sight of Katniss. And torment him she had.

He'd never realised ridiculous sweaters were such a turn on until she'd worn one on the Odair's Third Annual Stupid Seasonal Sweater Day.

Now, with only one bakery shift left to go, he wondered how it had all gone by so fast. The last week, the last month, the last 6 months. The last year, the last 5.

The last 6 years.

Peeta stood in the mock studio he'd set up on his third floor, arms folded as he looked down at the pounding waves below. The water was dark, moody and choppy, and reminded him of the first time he'd stood on the deck, the first time he'd seen the house, and told that ditzy real estate agent that he wanted to buy it.

But it also reminded him how long he'd been gone from New York, how long it had been since he'd been married. How long it had been since he'd gotten any sense of relief from anything other than his own hand. Today, for some reason, frustration was like a furnace bubbling just under his skin, had been from the moment he'd woken up.

He couldn't remember it bothering him that much for a long time, the betrayal of Cass overshadowing any need for him to get close to anyone, even if it was for nothing but the feeling of bare skin sliding against bare skin. But since Katniss had stumbled her stubborn way into his life, it had begun to bother him. A little. Kind of.

A lot.

He'd appreciated her attempt to keep a relative distance in the bakery, though he knew that Finnick was already aware there had been a shift between them. But he, like Katniss, wanted to keep it as strings-less as possible, so he'd figured the glances, the brushing of bodies and the few kisses they'd shared would be enough to satiate him for now.

_Right. Who was he kidding. No strings was one thing. No sex was another thing entirely._

He'd already figured they'd be able to work it all out amicably. They'd work off this ridiculous tension and frustration between them a few times, then once they'd gotten it out of their systems, they'd both walk away, no regrets. He wouldn't be at the bakery anymore, and he could go back to being the hermit he preferred, so there wouldn't be a lot of chances for them to bump into each other.

With a sigh, he turned away, began to move down the hallway to the staircase at the end, when a flash of colour caught his eye out the front window.

Except, Peeta thought wryly to himself as he saw the small red car trundling up his driveway and the dark-haired figure at the wheel, at times like these.

Damn, karma was a bitch. Or something.

He watched as she got out of the car, and glanced up warily at the house. He knew the moment she saw him, watched the way she faltered slightly before turning and leaning across to the passenger seat to pick something up. The way she'd parked the car afforded him a prime view of her as she leaned over and even covered in the thick winter pants she wore, his hands itched like crazy to get themselves on her ass.

Peeta made his way down the stairs, heard the sharp raps on the front wooden door halfway down. It took him another minute to arrive, and when he yanked it open, she was standing on the doorstep , her impatience obvious with her foot-tapping and braid twisting as she held a small box in one hand.

"Hi."

"Hi."

"Buy a new car?"

She rolled her eyes, held out the box towards him. "No. Effie was in this morning, bought this in for you. She thought you were working, but obviously not. I offered to drop it off during my break, and borrowed the Odairs car."

"Fair enough. What is it?"

Katniss shrugged. "It's not for me, so I didn't look."

Peeta took it from her, began to open it before he glanced at the murky weather outside again. "Uh, you want...you want to come in?" He heard the catch in his voice, and he knew she did too - she shook her head.

"I should go, I've got another couple of hours at the bakery, and then I have plans…"

"Just for five minutes, while I open this. Then you can go."  _When life gives you lemons, and all that shit..._

He could see her mentally weighing it up, before she finally nodded.

Swallowing heavily, he stepped aside, allowing her in. She stripped off the heavy jacket she wore, tugged off her boots, and dropped them in a pile at his door. He closed it behind them, then made a beeline straight for the back of the house, barely giving her a moment to take anything in.

Part of him still wasn't comfortable with her being here in his space, in his home. But two weeks after they'd kissed like teenagers in her kitchen for a better part of an hour, he figured it was only fair she see where he lived.

Even if he let her in in stages.

_Stage one. Kitchen and sunroom._

"This is a nice space," she said quietly, standing in the wide open entry to the room. Her hands were folded in front of her, and he wondered if she felt as nervous as she looked.

"I designed it myself," Peeta said absently, heading towards the counter. "Tea?"

"Uh, no. I'm good, thanks. But you designed this? Nice work."

He shrugged, began tearing at the ribbon that elegantly decorated the box. He wasn't surprised to see the gleaming gold set of cufflinks that sat inside - from what he'd seen of her, it seemed like an Effie gift to give. He tipped the box so Katniss could see what was inside. "Does she do this for everyone?"

"Only people she likes. You must have made an impression on her with that cake."

"I guess I'll have to thank her when I see her next," he said reluctantly.

"Probably a good idea. She's big on recognition." She glanced around again. "Anyway, the kitchen?"

He moved around the counter towards the sunroom, gestured for her to follow. "It was a mess when I moved in, so I needed to do something. Figured if I was going to both work and live here, it needed to be habitable."

"It's more than habitable," she replied wryly. "It looks like something from one of those Martha Stewart magazines I see at Annie's."

He scoffed before dropping onto one of the stools that sat behind the wooden breakfast bar he'd installed in front of the windows, stared out to the deck and the angry ocean beyond. He waited until she'd lowered herself onto the stool beside him before speaking again. "Martha Stewart wasn't exactly my inspiration here."

Katniss rolled her eyes. "I didn't say she was. All I meant was that it looks like it should be in one of those magazines."

"Well...thanks. I guess."

"You're welcome. I guess."

This time, he laughed, and the noise of it still sounded foreign to him. The laugh had rumbled out of his chest more often lately, but it still didn't mean he was used to it.

"I didn't think it was possible I'd ever meet someone more obstreperous than I was."

"You're welcome. Again."

This time, he turned to face her, absently tapped his fingers on the top of his thigh. "Do you think that's why we're attracted to each other?"

"Because of our welcoming personas?"

"Maybe."

Katniss shrugged, and he watched as her tongue darted out to lick absently at her bottom lip.  _Okay, he was officially going insane._  "I don't know. You're not exactly my type."

"You're not exactly my type either."

"What is your type?"

"Not you."

"Ha."

"Well, what's your type?"

"No-one. Nothing is my type."

"Planning to be a cat lady one day?"

"Possibly, Lone Mountain Man."

"That would, technically, be Lone  _Cliff_  Man."

"Potato, potat-oh."

This time, they both grinned at each other. This, he could do, he realised. The snappy banter, the nothing serious, nothing in-depth. He was glad now that he hadn't asked her what was wrong the other day in the bakery. Maybe they were both better off being closed books with each other. The less they both knew, maybe the better. Regardless of that though, right now, all he could think about was  _her_.

"You know Finnick knows, right?" He said abruptly.

"Knows what?" She glanced at him curiously.

"About whatever this is."

Katniss shifted in her seat, hunched her shoulders. "Yeah, I know. He already told me he was ready to ask you what your intentions were."

Peeta snorted. "You're kidding."

"No. He's decided he's my big brother, and therefore he can do shit like that." Her eyes glittered in annoyance.

"Well, when he asks, and I tell him what my intentions are, he won't ask me again."

"Why's that?"

"Brothers don't want to hear those types of things. At least, I wouldn't if I had a sister. As far as brothers are aware, you were born in a cabbage patch and you'll never have sex." He said it blithely, a casual mention that he had every intention of getting her naked, but he knew it registered by the flush that crept over her olive cheeks.

_Shit. That whole 'years of celibacy' thing was coming back to torture him now, and now all he could think about was her naked. In his bed. On his sofa. Anywhere, really._

_Cool it, Mellark._

"Right," she murmured awkwardly, then slid off the stool, her cheeks still dark. "I think I should go."

"Really?"  _Screw cooling it, he needed to get his hands on her._  He reached over, trailed his fingertips over the back of the hand that still rested on the benchtop, watched as her eyelids fluttered slightly.

"Uh, yeah."

"Why?" He turned her palm over, traced his nails over the skin there.

"I told you, I have to go back to work. Then I'm celebrating Christmas with Finnick and Annie tonight before they leave on Christmas Eve."

"Of course. Final day in the bakery for me tomorrow."

"Mmm-hmmm," Katniss agreed. "So yeah. I have to go."

He shook his head, rose before he could stop himself. "Not before…"

"Not before what?"

"Not before I do this." He reached out to her properly then, clasped his hands tightly around her waist and tugged her into him. She stumbled slightly, her hands landing smack bang onto his chest. And he swallowed her next question before she could ask it, his mouth covering hers hotly.

The pants she wore were thick and made it feel like he his hands were a million miles away from flesh, but they still curved over her hips eagerly, pulling her in even closer. He felt her hands clench in the front of his sweater, then release as they slid over his shoulders, linking again at the nape of his neck.

"This is stupid, you know that, right?" she muttered, as he tore his mouth away from hers and trailed it down her neck, lifting one hand to tug at the neckline of the thick sweater she wore.

"Don't even care right now," he replied, lifting his mouth again to nip lightly at the skin just below her ear.

"I need to go."

"I need to get you out of this sweater."

"Peeta-"

He shook his head, the hand around her hip tightening its grip. "Nothing more, I promise. But fuck, you've been driving me insane."

He watched as her pupils dilated, as her breath hitched. "More than usual?"

"Before you were just driving me insane. Now you're driving me insane, and I want you."

Peeta brought his mouth back to hers, and the kiss was bruising and heated and she was kissing him back with as much force as he was kissing her. She didn't stop him when his hands reached for the hem of her sweater, when he impatiently pulled away to tug it over her head. Underneath was nothing more than a green t-shirt - that he made quick work of - and one of those sports bras that were meant for function not seduction, but still shot a bolt of lust into his stomach at the sight of the slope of her breasts.

He let her drag his ratty old shirt over his head, because that meant skin to skin and shit he needed that, needed it more than anything else right now.

His hands drifted across her bare back, traced down her spine, slid up her sides before his fingertips rested just underneath the band of the bra. He could feel skin shifting under his hands, the deep breaths she kept taking that made her chest press against his harder, then softer as she exhaled.

"I was thinking of you before you showed up on that beach, you know."

"Really?" Her back arched slightly, and dammit if he didn't know what she was doing. His fingertips crept up slightly, but not too much, and the disappointment in her eyes told him he'd read her right.

"Yeah. How a few kisses and a few touches would get me by."

"Sure," she agreed. "Absolutely."

"That I wouldn't need anything more than that from you."

"Totally on board with this."

Peeta let his fingers drift up an inch, and this time they brushed the side of her breasts, drifted dangerously close to him being able to cup his palms around them, and her eyelids fluttered closed. "Are you sure about that?"

The sound in the back of her throat was a strangled mix of a groan and a sigh. "Are you?"

"No."

"Good."

This time, her arch wasn't nearly as subtle and he didn't stop his hands as they covered her breasts; and just like he'd anticipated, fit perfectly in his palms.

Katniss groaned into his mouth as his covered hers again, as he licked and nibbled and sucked on her lips in every way he'd thought of doing since he'd been at her house. Her own hands wandered across his back, grasping at the ropey muscles around his shoulder blades, then his arms, her hands clenching around the biceps tightly. Her hips rocked against his, first gently and then more insistent and he felt himself hardening against her even more.

She felt warm and hot and loose and taut and everything in between.

"I really have to go," she muttered finally, dragging her mouth away. "I...I don't want to be late. And as shit," Katniss hissed as his right thumb brushed across a hardened peak, then glared up at him hotly. "As good as this feels, I'm not getting naked with you."

"You're not?" He didn't know whether he sounded arrogant or wounded. Maybe a little of both.

"Not right now I'm not."

"Just right now?" He locked eyes with her, figured if her grey eyes were that dilated and lustful, his could only be the same.

"Just right now. You're the first person I've half considered it with in over a year, so, yeah. Not never, just  _not now_."

He forced himself not to grin at the knowledge that she'd never given anyone else in QMB the time of day, but reluctantly stepped back, his hands drifting down her bare stomach towards the band of her pants - watching her stomach muscles quiver - before he drew them away.

"Alright, Katniss. I'll see you tomorrow. And some other time."

She reached down to the ground, picked up the discarded t-shirt and sweater and yanked them back over her head. "I'll see you tomorrow." She darted down the hall, and he could hear her scuffling around as she put her jacket and boots back on.

He watched from the front door as she jumped in the car, as it protested a little in the cold as it restarted. She glanced over her shoulder at him once as she drove away.

********

The lights on the Odair's christmas tree glittered, a warm white that offset the gold and red decorations that covered it from top to bottom. Candles lit the room, placed on various shelves and tables and window sills, and green wreaths and garlands dotted with holly rested atop fireplace mantles and doorframes.

It was warm and cozy, and with a mug of eggnog cupped in her hands, there was nowhere else Katniss would rather be right now.

Except, maybe, someplace where Finnick wasn't grilling her.

"So what are you going to do?" he asked, propping his feet up on the coffee table, a stupid flashing santa hat he'd worn all during dinner sitting haphazardly on his head.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean, you don't know?" Finnick exclaimed, eyes widening. "Christmas is this week!"

Katniss rolled her eyes and leant back in the sofa, her fingers lightly clasped around the base of her mug. "Finn, what did I do last Christmas? I'll probably do exactly the same again; you know I'm not big on holidays."

"Yeah, but you were still new here last year. You'd only been working at the bakery for two weeks..."

"And I'd only been in QMB for three, I know." She glanced over at Annie as the other woman walked back in carrying a baby monitor, swatting at Finnick's feet to get him to move them before plopping onto the sofa beside Katniss.

"I just thought-"

"Just thought what?" Her response was probably sharper than Finnick's question required, but she had a feeling she knew where he was going with this.

Finnick shrugged, bit into a piece of shortbread he snuck from the plate on the coffee table. "Just, you know. Thinking about who else is staying in town…"

Katniss kept a straight face. "Yes, Peeta is in town. So is Haymitch for that matter. Maybe I'll go hang out with the old judge, throw back a couple of whiskies."

He tisked as he swallowed the rest of the cookie. "Now you're just being difficult."

"I'm really not. You're just making assumptions."

"Assumptions based on the way that bakery has basically been an inferno lately." Finnick winked.

"Oh leave Katniss alone," Annie sighed. "The more you bother her about this, the more likely she'll hole up at home for the entire holiday. Unless, of course, you do want to come with us…"

"Thank you, again, for the invitation, but I'm fine with staying here," Katniss assured them. "Whatever I do, I'll do because I want to. If I just want to hang out at home with a glass of wine and a book and a turkey dinner for one, then that's what I'll do."

"Doesn't sound very festive," Finnick grumbled.

"Now you sound like Effie," Katniss retorted. "She's already tried to convince me to go to New York with her for the holidays."

"I didn't realise you and Effie were that chummy," Annie mused, tucking her legs up under her.

"We're not. But as soon as she heard I was staying here with no plans…" Katniss trailed off, took a sip of her drink. "Right now, I'm really quite happy with what I'm doing. I promise."

They fell into silence, but it wasn't an awkward or uncomfortable one. Instead, it felt like the silence of three people who were comfortable enough to know when they could be quiet around one another, without the need to talk.

Katniss glanced at both Finnick and Annie, and the way he was surreptitiously trying - and failing - to reach out his foot far enough to touch her knee, and felt the lump rise in her throat, before staring back down into her mug. What she wanted to say next, what she'd been meaning to say all night, she couldn't really say while looking at them, and she cleared her throat noisily. She didn't have to look at them to know that she had their attention. "So, um, this might be a bit weird, but I just...I just wanted to say thank you. You both took a chance on me a little over a year ago, and I can't ever repay you for that. Without the two of you, I'm not sure what I would have done. So...yeah. Um. I don't know what else to say, because I suck at that. But...yeah."

She looked back up in time to see them both smiling at her.

"Katniss, you know we wouldn't have it any other way, right?" Annie reached over, patted her hand lightly. "You've become like family to us, I hope you know that."

Katniss thought back to all the conversations she'd had with Annie, how much fun she'd had blowing raspberries on the stomach of Dylan, the promise by Finnick to act like her - un-required - protector with Peeta, and nodded slowly.

"Yeah, I do. Thank you."

"Which means next time," Finnick waggled his eyebrows, "You can come down to Georgia with us and meet my Grandmother. She'll love giving you the 20 Questions All Grandmothers Ask At Holiday Season To Piss You Off."

Annie threw a decorative red pillow at his head that finally knocked the stupid santa hat off.

********

The morning of the 25th was a quiet one in Quarter Mile Bay. Snow blanketed the streets, and fairy lights and thick, green garlands and wreaths decorated the outside of Main Street buildings and businesses that wouldn't open again until the next day, at the earliest. Families gathered together in houses, the occasional car driving down slick streets filled with people on their way to visit with others, to open presents and eat food until they burst.

Katniss sat in her front room with a mug of hot chocolate and a book, stared at the lights on her tree and smiled.

Peeta sat in his sunroom, a mug of tea in his hand and watched the ocean below.

It was quiet, but it was both how they wanted to spend their Christmas morning.

********

"Got enough alcohol?" Peeta surveyed the spread in front of him - the coffee table filled with a meat and cheese platter Haymitch had obviously bought at the deli and not one he'd put together himself, and about 10 various bottles of beer, liquor and wine, plus a large jug of - likely- spiked eggnog. The christmas tree in the corner was small, with no decorations on it but the lights, but for Haymitch, having the tree up in and of itself was a miracle. "There  _is_  only the two of us."

Haymitch wandered in from the back of the house, a half full tumbler already in his hand. "Ah, kiddo, no such thing as too much alcohol. Especially at Christmas."

"What if we actually _want_  to remember Christmas?"

Haymitch rolled his eyes, dropped into his La-Z-Boy. "Geez, Grandma Betty, I'm not forcing it down your throat. Eat some cheese. Have a drink if you want, or not. Stare at the lights, or the fire. Merry Christmas."

Peeta laughed, began to lower himself in the seat across from Haymitch. "Alright, now-"

A heavy pounding on the front door startled them both, and Peeta glanced over at Haymitch, who grimaced. "Kid, I'm comfortable already. You wanna get that?"

"You want me to answer your front door?"

"No, the phone. Of course the door." Haymitch rolled his eyes, plucked a cracker off the platter and shoved it in his mouth.

"Manners?"

"Shut up, Effie. Please, alright?"

Peeta flipped him the bird and made his way to the front door, before unlocking it and swinging it open.

Somehow, he should have expected it to be Katniss, and he cursed himself for not seeing this coming sooner.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, for your kudos and comments. Hope you've had a wonderful holiday season so far, and happy new year!
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under sponsormusings :)


	13. Chapter 13

"Oh."

Katniss kicked herself almost the moment the word fell from her lips. She supposed she could have said something a little more enthusiastic, a little kinder, a little friendlier - even maybe a little flirtier. But she hadn't exactly stepped onto Haymitch’s old porch with the expectation that Peeta would be the one answering the door when she knocked.

When Haymitch had asked her a couple of days earlier if she wanted to join him for a drink on Christmas day, her first thought had been to say no. She'd already said no to joining Finnick and Annie in Georgia, had happily decided that she would just spend the day on her own. And then guilt had crept in. Haymitch, from what she'd gathered in the last year, had no immediate family. No wife, no children - she hadn't even seen so much as a second cousin in town to visit. And she’d figured maybe, if she didn’t do it for her, she should at least do it for him - someone who’d bothered to take an interest in getting to know a strange, single girl who’d barrelled into town a month before last Christmas with little more than a shitty car and $500 to her name.

So she’d said yes.

Clearing her throat, she shuffled her feet awkwardly. "Hi Peeta. Merry Christmas," she greeted, twisting her scarf around her free hand.

"Merry Christmas," he replied shortly, and she blinked, surprised, at the frostiness of his tone. The last time they'd seen each other, they'd been in the bakery, preparing for the holiday closure, and everything had been fine. A bit of snarky bickering here and there, a little glance when it didn’t seem like the other was looking - pretty much what she’d begun to expect with him. And before that...well, she'd discovered what it felt like to have her bare skin pressed against his in the middle of his sunroom, so she'd figured they were well beyond this stranger tone of voice he was using.

Maybe he’d just had a bad morning. Maybe he’d had an argument with Haymitch already.

_Or maybe he’d changed his mind about them._

"Um, can I come in?" She asked, and he shrugged, opened the door wider to allow her enough room to get by. Stepping inside the warmth of the house, she placed the box she held on a small table by the door before kneeling to untie the laces on her boots, toeing them off eagerly. She peeled off her jacket and unwound her scarf, and in the process heard his sharp intake of breath. By the time she glanced over her shoulder he wasn’t even looking at her, instead he was staring through the archway towards the living room.

"That you sweetheart?!" Haymitch’s voice boomed from the room, followed by the clink of glass on glass.

"Yep! Pour me an eggnog, would you?"

"Spiked?"

"Of course!”

“Did you bring me some eclairs?"

“Do you even need to ask?”

“Ha!”

Katniss finished hanging up her outer gear on the hooks on the wall, picked up the box and turned back to Peeta. "You going through?" She asked, and he glanced at her briefly before looking away again. He moved through the archway without a word.

_Ooooookay then._

"Nice sweater," Haymitch snorted as Katniss entered the room two steps behind Peeta, and she stuck her tongue out at him, dropping the white bakery box on his lap.

"Finn and Annie made me buy it for that stupid sweater day, so I figure I may as well get some use out of it." She glanced down at the snowflakes that swirled in a pattern that did nothing but induce dizziness, and grimaced.

It really was awful.

“You have a nice morning?” He asked, not even bothering to wait a minute before flipping the lid and beginning to devour the first eclair.

“It was quiet.”

“Sounds like we’ve all had a similar day, hey kid?” Haymitch said around a mouthful of chocolate and cream, sliding his gaze across to Peeta, who was standing by the fireplace with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“Sure,” he muttered.

Katniss studied him through narrowed eyes, dropped onto the sofa furthest away from Peeta. It was almost as though the last few weeks had never happened. Everything about Peeta right now said _‘Stay Away’_ in big, red, flashing letters, and she had no idea what had happened.

Whatever it was, she had a sinking feeling that maybe whatever had been budding between them _was_ done and dusted.

She drank one eggnog, then two, felt her stomach and chest warm from the more than generous spiking by Haymitch.  She ate more processed meat and cheese than she’d probably eaten in months, her hand moving towards the platter of food as more of something to do than a genuine need to eat. She poked fun at Haymitch’s ‘Christmas’ vest - a bright red with gold buttons that was beginning to _‘stretch at the seams, just like Santa’s suit_ ,’ she’d teased - then had listened as Peeta and Haymitch argued about everything from football to what they thought would happen when _The Walking Dead_ returned from its mid-season hiatus.

The entire time Peeta hardly looked at her, even when Haymitch brought her into the conversation. And the few times she even managed to catch Peeta’s eye, he quickly glanced away, his cheeks flushing.

One hour shifted into two, and sick of being ignored by 50% of the other people in Haymitch’s house, Katniss yanked herself to her feet and headed out towards the kitchen, through to the small powder room she knew was beside the mudroom. She closed the door behind her with a firm snap, then did nothing for a moment but stare at herself in the mirror.

Nothing about her had changed. She still had the same grey eyes, the same long black braid curling over her shoulder, the same stupid Christmas sweater. Whatever had changed since she’d seen Peeta last was entirely on his shoulders. And if he was going to act this way, then there was really no point in her even worrying about it anymore.

As far as she was concerned, they were obviously done before they’d really even begun.

********

He was, without a doubt, prepared to stand trial and be found guilty of Haymitch Abernathy’s murder. The notoriously fair and grumpy judge, slain in his own living room by one of the East Coast's brightest up and coming architects.

He’d take his punishment fairly, and would never complain. No one would ever question his motives, and he’d never deny them.

Even hours later, Peeta still couldn’t believe Haymitch had done this.

He knew the moment he’d opened the door to Katniss what the old man was up to; it had been as clear as day. He could almost imagine the justification Haymitch would have run through his head before asking them both - individually, with no mention of the other - to spend part of Christmas with him.

 _No harm, no foul. Just invite them to my house for a drink, push these kids along a little. Peeta needs a woman in his life_.

Peeta rolled his eyes at his own internal monologue. It wouldn’t surprise him if Effie Trinket was in on it too, her and her nosiness and incessant questioning about when Peeta would _find a nice girl and settle down_.

He watched as Katniss yanked herself up from her seat, barely sparing either of them a glance as she stomped - hard to do in the thick green socks she wore - down the hallway towards the half-bath. He watched her go until she was out of sight, then immediately glared down at Haymitch from his spot beside the fire.

"I can’t believe you did this," Peeta snarled his thoughts aloud the moment he heard the powder room door click closed.

"Did what?" Haymitch replied innocently, picking up a square of cheese and popping it in his mouth.

He flung his arms out wide. "Invited us both here without telling either of us!"

Haymitch rolled his eyes. "In didn’t realise I needed your expressed prior permission before doing anything, but noted."

"You invited her here on purpose." Peeta knew he was sounding like a spoiled brat, but he couldn't stop it. It was like the words were going to rush out whether he wanted them to or not. He _hated_ people playing with his life. Especially when it came to his love life.

Haymitch shrugged. "Yeah, funnily enough I did. She's a good kid. You could do worse, and it's about time you woke up and realised that."

“So what, you think the love of a good woman is going to magically _cure_ me? Turn me into the man I _used_ to be? Is that what this is all about?” Peeta hissed.

“Cure you? The only thing that’s going to cure you right now is a good swift kick up the ass,” Haymitch tossed back.

"This isn't a shitty rom com you know."

“Obviously.” The older man shook his head wearily. “I invited her because she was alone today, because I like her despite - or maybe because of - that beady eye she likes to give everyone _and_ because I’ve had to be in that damned bakery while you two have been making moon eyes at each other for the last few weeks.”

“Moon eyes? How old are you?”

“Old enough for you to show me some fucking respect, kid. I do what I want to do, when I want to do it.”  This time Haymitch pointed his finger at Peeta forcefully. “I don’t think anyone is going to change you except _you_. But if something about _her_ makes you rethink being an ass for the rest of your life, then I’m not going to let that go by.”

“This has nothing to do with you,” Peeta said firmly, setting his jaw.

Haymitch groaned. “I _know_ it doesn’t have anything to do with me. It still isn’t going to stop me.” He glanced over his shoulder as he heard the toilet flush down the hallway. “Just...for crying out loud, pull the stick out of your ass and cheer up. It’s just a drink, a bit of cheese and shit - I’m not telling you to marry her.”

“I’m never getting married again,” Peeta swore.

“Then you’re a bigger idiot than I thought.”

“I don’t even know why we’re having this conversation.”

“Because you’re an idiot.”

Knowing Katniss could turn back into the living room at any moment, Peeta dropped into the seat closest to the fire, glared at it as he grabbed his glass from the side table and raised it to his lips. He hated the idea of Haymitch - or anyone - meddling in his life.  Whatever he chose to do, it was because _he_ chose to do it.  Not because somebody else told him to. Not because some old man had taken it upon himself to play matchmaker.

_No thank you._

********

The phone rang 10 minutes later, and they both watched as Haymitch rose from his chair, meandered into the kitchen. Neither said anything, so that when Haymitch yelled _“Chaff, you bastard, Merry Christmas!”_ , it echoed through the house loudly.

“I think I’m going to go,” Katniss announced suddenly, quickly getting to her feet.

Peeta leapt up after her. “But Haymitch-”

Katniss shrugged. “Haymitch is a big boy, he’ll be okay with me not saying goodbye.”

“But-”

“But _what_?”

He swallowed heavily, felt the anger that had fueled him all afternoon begin to shift into something uncomfortable. He was used to her questioning him, calling him out on his moods and his actions. And suddenly she had an opportunity to, and she wasn't? “But don’t you want to know why I’ve…” He trailed off, unsure of what to say.

“Why what? Why you’ve been such a dick today?” She asked snidely.

He had the grace to feel embarrassed, rubbed his hand across the back of his neck. “Well, I wouldn’t have put it that way, but I had a reason,” he countered.

Katniss scowled. “Like? This’ll have to be a damn good reason.”

“Well aren't you the slightest bit annoyed by this? Him, getting us both to come here?"

Katniss shook her head. "No, why would I be? I thought it was a nice idea."

Peeta shot her a look so full of incredulity it almost poured out of him. "You don’t get that he's got us here on Christmas Day as a way of forcing us together? That he's playing Matchmaker Haymitch?"

She shook her head, laughing. "No he's not."

" _Yes he is_."

Her smile slowly faded at the intensity of Peeta’s response. "No that's stupid. He wouldn't-"

"He would. You know he would," Peeta cut her off, and he watched as the realisation set in on her face. She’d come to know Haymitch as well as he had, and she’d _have_ to know that he was right. "You know I’m right. Now do you get why I'm so pissed?"

Katniss studied him silently for a moment, and he wondered what she was thinking. Then she opened her mouth. "No."

He did a double take, lifted his hands in confusion. That was _not_ what he’d expected from her. He'd expected indignance, a level of annoyance, frustration. _Definitely_ not acceptance. "What the hell?"

"I might be oblivious to what Haymitch was doing, Peeta," she began, folding her arms across her chest. "But I'm not pissed about it. Less than a week ago, we were kissing in your damned house, and right now you're angry at someone who is doing nothing but actually recognizing that we're attracted to each other? Hell, he saw it before either of us did, so right now I don't care. But obviously you do."

"I don't like people interfering in my business," he said abruptly, mirroring her folded arm stance. "I'm not here to be a piece in somebody elses game."

Katniss rolled her eyes. "It's not a game, for crying out loud. Put aside your own bruised pride for a moment and think about how exactly you're acting right now. We pretty much know we’re attracted to each other - don't let him take that away from you."

He scoffed. "Who's he?"

"Your ego," Katniss said bluntly, and he was distracted by the flashing of her grey eyes. "Because right now, he's doing a lot of damage. You know, it took me awhile to actually accept that I had any kind of feelings for you, but I’m already thinking it was a bad idea. I think...what’s done is done." She abruptly turned on her heel and headed for the doorway, was already at the archway that split the living room from the hall before he was after her, his fingers encircling her wrist lightly and dragging her to a halt.

"Wait, where are you going?" He asked, his heart thudding, the uncomfortable feeling that had started to trickle in suddenly filling him like a flood. _What’s done is done??_

"I already told you I was going home. There's no point in me being somewhere I'm not wanted. Say thanks to Haymitch."

"You can't-" _Was this panic? Was that what the lump in his throat and the erratic beating of his heart was? Was she going to walk away from...from 'this'?_ "You can't go."

"I can and I will," she said firmly, yanking her arm from his and stomping to the front door. He watched as Katniss pulled on her jacket, her boots, as she wound the scarf multiple times around her neck. She didn’t even look back when she yanked the door open, or when she closed it with a slam.

"Well shit," Haymitch muttered, and Peeta turned to see the man standing behind him, one eyebrow raised and a half-eaten candy cane in hand.

"That was your fault," Peeta snapped, though his words had no heat, and he knew they were a lie.

"Bullshit, it's your own," Haymitch said, then pointed just above Peeta's head. "Plus I think you just broke a cardinal Christmas rule." He dropped back into the La-Z-Boy, flung the footrest up and stuck the candy cane between his lips like a cigar, grinning widely.

Peeta lifted his gaze to see the lively sprig of mistletoe dangling from the archway and swore.

_Stupid asinine Christmas traditions._

********

He left not long after Katniss did, the anger he’d been holding onto all afternoon replaced by a feeling he hadn't felt in a long time -  shame. He got given a stern warning from Haymitch to get his shit together as he trudged out to his car, and although he had a nice warm house at the top of the cliffs waiting for him, he instead chose to drive to the beach, watching the frantic waves crashing against the shore from the drivers seat.

Sometimes, Peeta admitted to himself as he tapped his fingers nervously on the dashboard, he was absolutely his own worst enemy. Every chance he took, he tried his best to sabotage it. He’d done it again today, knowing that Katniss kept getting that little bit closer, and he was hell-bent on screwing it up.

He knew it was fear, pure and simple. Fear of letting someone else in. Fear of getting hurt again. Fear of losing. Fear of being betrayed. Fear of being left behind.

Most days, he didn’t think he would be able to make it through something like that again.

_It was risky, he knew it was. Cass rarely left her office before 6pm, but he was hoping she would make an exception today. The Fourth long weekend was upon them, and he really, really wanted to get a head start on the drive out to the Hamptons. He hadn’t particularly wanted to go there, but some of Cass’ partners were staying in a house by the beach; she’d won him over when she told him she’d already put dibs on one of the two rooms on the third floor, away from most of the group._

_He’d agreed, thinking a little exclusivity meant they could maybe start trying for that baby. They’d been talking about it more often lately, the idea of them possibly becoming parents, and Peeta knew that if Cass was violently opposed to the idea she would have already turned him down flat._

_Cass never played games when she could give you a straight no._

_He clutched a bouquet of roses - a combination of red and white, and tied with a blue ribbon to boot - in his palm, continued his walk down the street towards her offices. The traffic, as always, was chaotic, horns blaring and cyclists weaving in and out to the sound of expletives being yelled at them from the drivers._

_He was two buildings away when life as he knew it stopped, when everything around him began to slow down. He saw the cab pull up at the curb, watched as Cass popped out of it, then ducked her head back in quickly before straightening again with smile on her face. Peeta grinned as he saw it - he’d missed that smile. He hadn’t seen it in such a long time and was thankful for whatever it was that had put it on her face. Maybe she’d finally won that big case she’d been working on. Maybe she’d seen her sister - the one she liked - or maybe she was simply looking forward to the long weekend ahead._

_Peeta stood and watched her happily for a moment, as she looked one way, then the other, before attempting to navigate between the oncoming cars to reach her building. But even looking didn’t do anything in the end._

_The oncoming car was coming fast, too fast, and recklessly, as though the driver were distracted, or drunk. It hit a cab that didn’t even have a chance to swerve out of the way, and the force of the impact had it skidding down the street. And even as Peeta’s gaze turned back to where Cass had been crossing, his mouth opening in warning, he saw the impact of the car as it hit her full force._

_Adrenaline took him across the road, the flowers tossed aside as he frantically weaved through the maze of cars that had ground to a halt; he heard the crunching of glass under his feet as he tried desperately to get to her._

_He wasn’t the first one there - one of her colleagues, a tall, blond man with broad shoulders who he couldn’t quite remember the name of - but the moment he reached her, he dropped to his knees, gripping her hand tightly in his, her engagement ring digging into his palm. She’d looked at him then, blue eyes wide with shock and fear, even as blood streamed from a cut on her forehead and dripped down her porcelain skin._

_And it had felt like forever and no time at all when she’d finally closed her eyes for the last time while lying on the sidewalk, each of her hands clasped by a blond man with tears streaming down their faces._

Peeta dropped his head back against the headrest as the memory came back to him. It had hurt to see it happen in front of him, had hurt for her to die at all. It had hurt when he’d found the box, and when he’d found out about Adrian. And although it didn’t hurt now, not like it had back then, it had hardened him. Created a shell that he’d been determined wouldn’t crack again.

It had made him into someone he really wasn’t, someone he’d held onto for longer than he should have, just to protect himself. Someone who was a shadow of his former self, like someone had reached inside and twisted him up until he was no longer recognisable. But he knew, really, that it was no longer an excuse. Cass was gone. Adrian had probably moved on. And ultimately, Peeta couldn’t go on being angry about questions he would never, ever get the answers to.

He knew he couldn’t - and wouldn’t - be able to change overnight; but he could at least continue on this path he’d set himself on, and see where it took him. It might not take him to Katniss, and that, he could accept. He knew he’d be okay if he was meant to be alone - he’d resigned himself to that a long time ago.

But he wasn’t going to go down without at least giving it a try.

Peeta took a deep breath and pulled his cell from his pocket; he called Haymitch to apologise, only for the man to laugh at him and tell him not to worry, as it was the most entertaining Christmas he’d had in years.

And then, after hanging up, he got the courage to go and apologise to the person who deserved it the most.

********

She couldn’t believe she’d been so stupid. Couldn’t believe she’d actually thought he’d cared. And obviously, he hadn’t. Or he had, but it had been his own pride that he’d cared about.

It had taken Katniss half an hour of stomping around her cottage, blasting that stupid Jessica Simpson album just to take her mind off of it. Sure, much like Peeta she didn’t like people meddling in her life, but she didn’t really consider what Haymitch had done to be meddling. It wasn’t like he’d cornered them in his house with Reverend Templesmith and a shotgun.

Did the idea of ‘them’ bother Peeta so much that that reaction had been warranted?

Katniss was already up to listening to _Baby It’s Cold Outside_ for the second time when the knock came, heavy and hard and insistent. She knew immediately that it was him, stomped over to the CD player to quieten the Simpson and whatever guy she was married to at the time, before heading to the front door. She flung it open, got ready to order him to get off her damn porch.

Except Peeta stood there with a sprig of greenery in his hand and something that suspiciously looked like an apology on his face.

“What do you want?” she snapped.

“Apparently I owe you a kiss,” he replied, and his voice was softer than she’d probably ever heard it.

Katniss dropped her gaze to the little branch he held out to her at chest height, looked back up at him. “Stealing peoples plants now?” she accused.

“It was Haymitch’s, and he’d hung it in the hallway, directly where we were arguing. He’s a craftier bastard than even I gave him credit for.”

She sniffed. “He might be crafty, but he’s nicer than you.”

“I know,” he admitted. “And that’s saying a lot.”

“It is,” she replied, then sighed, the anger she’d been holding onto since she’d stormed out of Haymitch’s draining from her. She leant against the doorframe wearily. “What do you want, Peeta? I really don’t think we have anything more to say to each other.” This time her voice was tired. She wasn’t prepared to play these games with him, the back and forth, the kissing one minute, yelling the next. Wondering whether what was between them was real or not.

“I told you - I owe you a kiss. Apparently it’s bad luck not to.”

“Who says?”

“I don’t know.” He took half a step forward, lifted the sprig until it was above both of their heads. “Will you let me?”

“Why should I? You were so damned rude to me today.”

“I know I was, and I had no right to be. I’m sorry, Katniss.”

Her head visibly jerked back at his words, and her eyes roamed his face, taking in the strong jaw, the blond hair  - desperately in need of a trim - sticking out from the bottom of a navy wool cap, the blue of his eyes, the intensity in them. And the chagrin.

He was embarrassed about the way he’d acted, she realised, and sorry. Even if she couldn’t completely understand, she somehow knew if he was apologising, he honestly meant it.

“Apology accepted,” she finally said, taking half a step back.

“So does that mean you’ll let me kiss you?”

“One,” she acquiesced. “For traditions sake. And then you can go.”

He took a step towards her, held the mistletoe above her head, bending slightly. His lips brushed gently against hers, and they were warm and a little chapped from the cold weather, but still managed to be soft at the same time.

And she couldn’t help but step a little closer to him, allowing his hand to cup her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured again, this time against her lips. “Did you mean it?”

“Mean what?”

“When you said before _‘what’s done is done?’_ ”

Katniss closed her eyes, allowed his forehead to drop down and rest against hers. She wanted to say yes, that she was done with it. She’d already gone through enough shit in her life to worry about whether he was going to talk to her or freeze her out. She’d lost her father, her mother, her sister. She’d lost her home, her roots, had lost any kind of link to any place at all until she’d gotten to the Bay.

But she knew she couldn’t. Not when she recognised the look in his eyes as one that she’d seen in her own over the years. Not when he drove her insane as much as he drove her to distraction.

“I can’t play hot and cold with you, Peeta.”

“But-”

“But, I can’t pretend that I’m willing to put this aside so easily,” she said. “I don’t kiss just anyone you know.”

He didn’t say anything at first, the silence dragging out until it was almost uncomfortable.

Then he swooped in, his arm roughly wrapping around her waist and dragging her into him until their bodies rapped hard against each other.  He stared down at her for a moment, the question clear in his eyes, and she nodded almost imperceptibly half a moment before his lips landed on hers.

They were bruising, needy, full of...what, she didn’t even know. She didn’t really care, to be honest.

She just wanted to be kissing him. Had wanted to all day, even while she’d contemplated spitting in his eggnog.

Katniss reached her hands up, palmed the front of his jacket, fisting her hands in the thick fabric. She dragged him inside, grateful that he had the foresight to bend his knee and slam the door closed behind them with the sole of his foot. Then he spun them around, and had her up against the door, his mouth hungry and devouring, his hands gripping at her hips as he pressed them harder against the smooth mahogany wood.

“Fuck, I’m an idiot,” he muttered as he dragged his mouth away from hers, making a branding path down over her jaw, down her neck, fixing his lips over her collarbone. “I’m sorry I was such an ass.”

“You should be,” Katniss muttered. “You ruined a perfectly good day.”

“Let me make it up to you.”

“How?” The word tumbled out of her mouth before she even had a chance to take it back. She knew _how_ she wanted him to make it up to her - the crazy beating of her heart, and the dull throbbing between her thighs made her all _too_ aware of how she wanted him to - but surely he wasn’t thinking of anything like that. He’d spent the entire day hating on her and -

“I need to touch you. I need to feel you,” he mumbled into her ear, his strong body lining up against hers until she couldn’t feel anything except for every single inch of him up against her - from toe, to thigh, to chest, to face.

“You don’t even like me,” she whispered.

She felt him shake his head next to hers as one of his hands lifted and tangled in her hair. “I like you too much, Katniss, and that’s the problem,” he said through a breath that she was certain he couldn’t catch. He moved his head back, tugged lightly on the twisted long black strands until she was looking up at him. She could feel every cord in her neck strain as she swallowed nervously.

And then he was kissing her again, and hands were tugging at his jacket, her sweater. She felt his shoes get kicked off, heard a thud as one connected against the wall, then he was yanking the sweater off, and her hair was flying around her face and he was kissing her again and _shit_ , she didn’t think she’d ever get used to it.

They left a trail down her hallway - his cap, his jacket, his ratty college sweater, her Christmas sweater, the t-shirt she’d been wearing underneath. He palmed her breasts over the plain black bra she wore, and she felt her head fall backwards at his touch, at the way his fingertips eagerly dipped beneath the cotton, brushing against the stiffened peaks, and causing her to mutter incoherently.

In the end, they didn’t even get to her bedroom, instead finding themselves pressed up against the pale golden wall outside of it. Tongues tangled as his hands frantically tugged at her belt, as his fingers fumbled with the button on her jeans. Then before she could even take another breath his hand had slid beneath the fabric, cupping her in a way that made her hips jerk against him. His left hand gripped her wrists, lifting them until he held them above her head, pinning her until she couldn’t even move if she wanted to.

She didn’t want to.

But she wanted _him_ to. Desperately.

Peeta’s rhythm was slow at first, his fingers pressing against her flesh in small circles, making her eyes roll into the back of her head, her breath coming in fits and starts. She wanted to touch him, but from the look in his eyes, he had no intention of letting her hands go free to allow her to.

He changed his angle, his mouth lowering to the juncture of her neck as he slid first one finger inside of her, then two. And she almost didn’t recognise the strangled moan that fell from her own lips.

Peeta’s body was hard against hers, and she could feel the length of him up against her thigh, his breathing hard and fast against her throat as he steadily thrust his fingers against her, inside her. And she knew this wasn’t enough.

She took a deep breath, then yanked her hands free from his grasp, lowering them to reach frantically for the button of his jeans. She heard Peeta’s sharp intake of breath, felt the quiver of his stomach on the back of her hand as her hand tugged at the zipper.

Katniss yanked the band of his jeans down over the curve of his ass, giving her a glimpse of the black boxer briefs he wore underneath, though she didn’t even pause before she was tugging them down too. And her mouth went dry at the sight of him, long and hard and firm.

She took him in her hand, and he groaned, long and deep and heady against the skin of her shoulder as she began to slide her hand up and down, up and down. And then their movements were in sync, and his hips were thrusting towards hers and she was rocking against his hand to match his every movement. Sweat slicked their skin, ignorant to the cold weather outside, breaths panting as their mouth met again in a vicious kiss. She felt it begin to curl in her belly, and she knew it was coming. She gripped his shoulder with her free hand, her short nails digging into the smooth skin. She wanted – no, _needed_ – to reach the end, to get there, to drag him over the edge with her-

And then Peeta bit down lightly on the lobe of her ear, and she was coming apart in his hands, a groan on her lips, her heart pounding, her thighs shaking, her entire body quaking with the aftershocks. And his mouth was on hers again, swallowing every single one of her gasps as his own body jerked and his own release came.

They were quiet, nothing but their breaths mingling.

"Merry Christmas," he finally muttered. And she laughed.

********

They ate on her sofa, cereal with cold milk and hot tea. They didn’t say much, just turned on the television to whatever Christmas movie was on, though neither really paid much attention. They looked at each other occasionally, a mix of nervousness and attraction and relief and embarrassment that they’d been like a couple of horny teenagers unable to even wait to get to a flat surface, too hurried for a release of any kind to even think about finesse.

He kissed her deeply before he left for home, a possible promise of things to come. And told her to make sure she never, ever threw that ridiculous sweater away.

********

The following week passed in a blur. The Odairs returned, as did Effie, and Peeta had to make an unexpected work trip to Boston due to troubles with a project that kept him there through to the start of January.

It didn't bother her; Katniss kept herself busy with prepping the bakery for re-opening, spending time with Sae and trying to keep Finnick and Annie awake through to midnight to see in the New Year. She and Peeta texted occasionally – weird little texts that didn’t say very much, but at least recognised that things had changed between them. Though with Peeta gone, they hadn’t yet had an opportunity to repeat their Christmas afternoon.

But it was okay. Because for the first time in a very long time, Katniss felt like she had something to look forward to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, for your comments and kudos.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under sponsormusings, where I love to chat about all things THG and Everlark :)


	14. Chapter 14

_It was quiet, save for the occasional car that drove down the street, or the swishing of water every time a dish or a glass got lifted from the sink. Prim was out - presumably studying with some school friends, although having been 15 herself once upon a time, Katniss was certain a lot more time was really being spent watching TV - and without her there, the house seemed emptier, less lively._

_Chancing a glance beside her to her mom, Katniss mulled over the thoughts that had been playing over and over in her mind for the last week. For the last month, if she was being perfectly honest, but it had intensified over the previous couple of days. And she didn’t even know why._

_All Katniss knew was that it had woken her up in the middle of the night on a Monday that had otherwise been boring and mundane, and she’d gone to college the next morning tired and confused, and wondering if there would ever be a time that she would feel comfortable enough to broach the question. She knew it would be hard for her mom to answer, about something they rarely spoke of. But she needed to know, and she knew it would eat away at her until she asked._

_So she supposed there was no time like the present._

_Katniss took a deep breath, gripped the edge of the counter with her fingers. "Mom, can I ask you a question?"_

_"Of course. Is there something wrong?"_

_"No...no, nothing wrong. I just wanted to ask…” she coughed lightly. “Um, how did you know?"_

_"About what, Kitty?"_

_Katniss made a face at the childhood pet name, but steeled her shoulders. "About Dad."_

_Even after 3 and a half years, the topic of her father was a touchy one, one handled with sensitivity and always broached tentatively. It had taken her mom a long time to recover from his death, but slowly and surely things had gotten better in the Everdeen household. While by no means perfect, it was good, and in the last six months alone, her mother had made huge strides. She smiled more, had gone back to work full time, had even made the suggestion that they all go looking for a dress for Prim's junior prom, even though it felt forever away. _

_But it was still a work in progress, and James Everdeen's name remained one that continued to be murmured on a whispered breath._

_"Do you...do you mean us, together?" The tremor in her mother's voice was slight, but controlled quickly._

_"Yeah."_

_Alice Everdeen handed over a soapy plate, watched as Katniss began to dry it with the red and white checked dishcloth, before plunging her hands back into the hot water in the sink._

_"I don't know," she said quietly. "Well, I do...but it's hard to explain."_

_"He always joked that you fell in love with him over his singing voice, and that he fell in love with you because you looked like a princess." Katniss focused on the plate intently, rubbing at a spot that didn't even exist while she studiously avoided the emotion in her mom's eyes._

_A small breath escaped her mom's lips, something that almost resembled a laugh. "Well I suppose that’s true. He did make even the birds stop to listen when he sang. But it wasn’t just that. It was just...him. There was something between us, something that neither of us could explain. But we knew, both knew more than anything else we'd ever known, that we were meant to be together. My parents, not approving of us? We didn't care. I missed him when he wasn't there, and we knew that we were just...better together." She glanced at Katniss then, and her next comment was a surprise. "Have you met someone, Katniss? Is that what this is about?"_

_Katniss shook her head profusely, her lips curling distastefully. "Ugh, no. Not after the mess of Cato." She wasn’t even sure if her mother really remembered the short lived romance from high school, but it didn't matter. "I was just curious, is all."_

_Alice turned her attention back to the soapy water in front of her. "All you need to know is that there's no rhyme or reason to the person you fall in love with. It just happens, even if it’s the last person you expect it to be, or the person you never thought you could see yourself with. I was lucky - I knew from the moment I met James that I wanted it to be him, and I'm glad that I was it for him too." Her voice was wistful as her hands continued the repetitive steps of washing the dishes, but the smile, the soft smile of reminiscing over something good, made Katniss glad she'd gotten up the courage to ask._

_Two weeks later, her mother was gone, and took with her the rest of those memories and stories Katniss would never hear about._

_But at least she had that one._

********

She couldn’t. It was cliché and stupid romantic, and romantic was one thing she wasn’t.

_But you want to_.

The sing-songy voice inside her head was insistent; it had nagged at her all day, but for the most part, she'd been able to ignore it.

Now, as she closed the door to the bakery, locked it behind her and shoved the keys into her pocket, it came back at her full force.

_Go and see Peeta! Surprise him at his house!_

A business trip that was initially only meant to take a week at most had somehow turned into two weeks. Then three. And by the time Peeta finally told her he was returning to QMB, it was already close to the end of January.

And no one was more surprised than Katniss herself at how much she'd discovered she'd missed him.

Finnick had laughed at her when she'd lamented the lack of cinnamon rolls in the bakery on a slow Wednesday afternoon, while Annie had smiled at her knowingly when she'd once tried to pick a fight over virtually nothing, just so she had the opportunity to bicker. Haymitch had been a willing participant, though, and she'd spent one Friday evening getting drunk with him at the Hob, arguing about everything from the snow outside to the grossness of green peas, while Darius plied them with beers and whiskey.

It wasn’t the same though, and she’d realised that somehow in the last few months, Peeta's constancy in her life had become the norm, and it felt odd without him there.

She shoved her hands in her pockets as she began to stride quickly down the sidewalk, hiding her chin against the cold in the scarf wrapped around her neck. She wished briefly that for times like these she had a car again, but knew it was an expense she didn’t really need or want. The walk from her place to the bakery was short, and if she needed to get out of town, the Odairs were always happy to lend her one of theirs - but considering she rarely left QMB, it wasn’t really an issue.

Though she had to admit it _would_ be nice when it was this freaking freezing.

Turning the next corner, she absently slid her fingers against the smooth case of her iPhone, thought back to the text Peeta had sent her earlier that day, one that she’d had to put on her best poker face for as she’d read it. It had been short and simple, like most of the ones she’d received from him since Christmas:

_Peeta (sent 10.08am): Back in QMB today._

Those 3 words and one acronym had filled her with a mixture of excitement, nervousness - and that little annoying voice just to top it off.

So just to be obstinate, she’d decided to ignore it and go and visit Annie.

It didn’t take her long - the walk to the Odair’s was even shorter than her own trek to home - and Annie’s face lit up as she opened the door.

“Katniss! What are you doing here?”

She shrugged, stamped her feet on the front mat to rid them of the snow before stepping inside. “I figured I’d come by and see my favourite guy.”

“Not me, then,” Annie’s eyes twinkled, and Katniss’ lips twitched in a smile as she stripped off her outer gear.

“Well, I _did_ see you in the bakery earlier, and Dylan wasn’t there.”

“True. But I’m sure he had a much better time at Sae’s than what he would have behind the counter with me.”

With Peeta no longer working at the bakery, Annie and Finnick had had to work out a schedule, both in the bakery and at home, to suit their expanded family of three. They split the early starts between them, and during the times they were both at the bakery, Sae or her daughter - depending on their own schedule at their store - had volunteered to baby-sit. Katniss and Rue closing out enabled them to finish early, and so far, the new routine was working for them.

Katniss followed Annie through the archway into the living room, where Dylan was lying on his back on a striped rug, his legs kicking madly. She immediately dropped beside him, rubbed his belly until he giggled.

“Good, you can keep him occupied while I finish this laundry,” Annie said with a smile. “I’m still not great with this whole multi-tasking thing.”

“I think you’re doing an awesome job,” Katniss told her. “Where’s Finnick anyway?”

“We needed diapers, so I sent him on an emergency run,” Annie grimaced, as she moved to the dining table and began to fold what looked like to be 30 million onesies. “That little bundle of joy poops more than he eats, I think.”

“But he’s cute, so it makes up for it, right?” Katniss looked down at Dylan, at the gummy smile on his face and drool sliding down his chin. He was the first baby she’d interacted with in a long time - the last had probably been Prim, but even back then, she’d barely been out of toddlerhood herself - and she was surprised at how comfortable with him she was, how much she enjoyed spending time with him. And how much he’d come to mean to her in such a short time.

_But then again, when she thought about it, she could really say that about quite a few people in this town._

“You know you have no chance with my son, right?” Annie teased, her laughing tones breaking through Katniss’ thoughts.

Katniss sighed dramatically. “He might not like me any more than just as a general belly rubber right now, but give me about 20 years, I’m sure I can win him over.”

Annie chuckled. “I was thinking more that Peeta would be the reason for that no chance, not you having to win over Dylan.”

Katniss lifted her head slightly, eyes narrowing. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Annie looked back at Katniss, her gaze unrelenting. “I just mean that Peeta doesn’t really have any competition for your affections, even from a baby.”

“Well to be honest...Darius is starting to look pretty attractive lately,” Katniss replied quickly. She knew that even though Annie knew better than anyone how she felt about Peeta, it didn’t really change the fact that part of her was still awkward about sharing _those_ types of feelings with other people. Deflection was her number one weapon.

Annie cleared her throat, laid the pale green t-shirt she was folding on the table. “Darius has always been attractive, and plenty interested in you, Katniss,” Annie said quietly, her voice almost reprimanding in its firmness. “You've just never seen him in that way.”

Katniss felt her cheeks flush shamefully. _Yeah, okay.  Annie deserved better than her being a difficult pain in the ass._

“Fine,” Katniss admitted reluctantly, reaching out and tracing her finger across Dylan’s downy hair. “Peeta really doesn’t have any competition anywhere.”

“Wow, do you need to sound so morose about it?” The basket now empty, and the table half filled with folded clothes, Annie crossed the room and lowered herself to the floor beside them. “You had a _far_ better Christmas Day than I did, so let's be a little positive.”

Katniss raised her eyebrow. “Okay, first, it’s _Peeta_. We fight more than anything else. And second, did you even listen to me when you coerced me into telling you about what happened on Christmas Day?”

“First, your bickering is like foreplay, and if you try and tell me otherwise, I’ll tell Finnick what happened even though I promised I wouldn’t. Second, I heard _Haymitch’s house, Peeta being an ass, blah blah blah, hook up in your hallway_. Pretty sure the only important part was the last part, in that it equalled an orgasm and I _definitely_ didn’t get one of those. Spending time with Finnick’s mother kind of puts a dampner on what’s remaining of your dwindling libido...”

Glancing down at Dylan in horror - even though she knew it was stupid; he wasn’t even aware of what his name was yet, let alone what orgasm or libido meant - Katniss felt her cheeks flush even deeper. Her face, apparently, was officially on fire. “Are you kidding me right now?”

Annie shrugged, drew her legs in so they were folded up in front of her. “After being with Finnick for as long as I have, nothing is sacred. That man will talk about _anything_ , so I guess it’s rubbed off a little on me.” Her hand reached out towards Dylan, and his own plump little hand shot out to grip her finger. “But please, have some enthusiasm.”

“I’ve got enthusiasm,” Katniss told her, then sighed. “You know I’m just not very good talking about that kind of stuff. But…I’m also worried if the last few weeks might have been a bad time not to see each other.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, we had _relations_ of some sort in the middle of my hallway, and we haven’t seen each other since. We've exchanged texts, but have only had like two actual conversations because we both seem to have an aversion to talking on the phone, and...I don’t know. What if he isn’t interested anymore? What if he’s sitting at home right now thinking, ‘well, thank goodness I’ve dodged _that_ bullet’?” She knew her voice bordered on shrill, but she couldn't help it.

Annie shook her head, leant forward to pick Dylan up and place him in her lap. “You need to start to consider that maybe you don’t have any competition anywhere eith- _wait_.” Annie’s eyes widened. “Did you just say he’s sitting at home right now?”

Katniss glanced up at the clock on the wall. “Yeah, probably. He sent me a text earlier to tell me he’d be back today, and what with the time and-”

“Katniss, I want you to leave.”

Katniss blinked at Annie’s interruption. “What?”

The brunette stretched out her long leg, kicked Katniss in the shin. “I love you, Katniss, but get out of my house, and get over to his. Now.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with my friend Annie?” Katniss demanded.

Annie sighed. “Your friend Annie is currently in the body of a woman with a low sex drive, another 2 loads of laundry to do, a baby who cries a lot at night, a bakery to run, a bathroom tap that leaks no matter how much we fix it and as a result of all of that is constantly exhausted. I have no time for games, and neither do you.”

“I…” Katniss trailed off, unsure of what to say. A rundown of what was going on with Annie had firmly put her in her place, and though she knew that that hadn’t been Annie’s intention, it still made her feel ashamed. “I’m sorry. Here I am, complaining about something completely stupid, and here you are…”

“Stop it,” Annie replied, before Katniss could go any further. “I’m just having a day, and I really wouldn’t change a thing right now.” She pressed a soft kiss to the top of Dylan’s head, then grinned wryly. “Well...okay, maybe I would change a couple of those things, but that’s not the point. I just want you to be one less thing on my list of things to be worried about.”

“You don’t need to worry about me.”

“But I do,” Annie smiled. “And right now, there’s a handsome, surly ex-baker at his house, alone. And after almost four weeks of watching you mope and being pretty damn awful at hiding it-” The rumble of an engine rumbling caused Annie to glance towards the window mid-sentence, before she turned her gaze back to Katniss. “That’s Finnick. I want you to take the red car; go and see him.”

“Take the car?” Katniss echoed as the little sing-songy voice from before returned - and this time it was in Annie’s lilting tone. “I can’t take your car. What if you need it?”

“Katniss, we have two now, remember? Dylan meant we needed to get a bigger car."

"Yeah, but-"

"You also can’t walk up to the clifftop in this weather," Annie continued. "You want to see him, right?”

She battled down her instinct to scoff and say no, chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before answering. “Yes.”

“Then go and get the keys from my husband.”

********

_Cinna (sent 5:29pm): You get home alright?_

_Peeta (sent 5:42pm): Yeah flight was fine_

_Cinna (sent 5:48pm): Thanks for staying on. Client appreciated it_

_Peeta (sent 5:55pm): It helped get him over the line on the DC and Florida jobs. Worth it for the business_

_Cinna (sent 6:01pm): You know that those jobs still don’t change my NYC request for you_

Peeta tossed his bag and his iPhone on his bed, yanked off his jacket and threw it on top, before rubbing tiredly at his eyes. It had been a busy - and unexpected - month away, one that he hadn’t planned for when he’d left the Bay.

The time in Boston, away from his house and everything in it that felt comfortable to him, had confirmed that he wasn’t cut out for a big city anymore. Not full time, not long term.

He wearily stripped off his travel clothes, left them in a messy trail leading to his ensuite, before turning on the shower. He blasted it hot - _hot enough to sear the skin off his bones, Cass had always joked whenever she’d tried to join him in the shower_ \- and stood under the pounding water as it streamed over his shoulders, down his back, working at the muscles tense from spending hours at his drawing board. And wondered how long he could stay in there before either his skin pruned or the hot water ran out.

He’d initially gone to Boston for nothing more than to do a little troubleshooting on the project, to try and keep it on track even through the cold weather. If this February was anything like last February, he’d figured even more snow was imminent, and the less they got behind on schedule now, the better. But of course the inevitable had happened, and Murphy’s Law rang true; hiccup after hiccup had occurred until it had simply made sense for him to stay until everything was sorted.

In the end, it had allowed Peeta to spend even more time with the client, to get him to sign on the dotted line for a few additional projects he’d been umming and ahhhing over, and to get started on roughing out a proposal or two. And while avoiding the New York job hadn’t been his _sole_ reason for trying to schmooze the client like he’d used to do so well, he had to admit that it had been an element of him campaigning hard.

And, as usual, Cinna saw right through him.

Shutting off the spray with a slap of his hand, he stepped out onto the heated floor, dried himself down before tugging on a pair of old sweats and a faded orange t-shirt that had seen better days, but was possibly the most comfortable thing he owned.

It wasn’t like anyone was around to see the frayed hem and the splotch just below the collar of what he thought had once been ketchup, anyway.

Heading back downstairs - and being endlessly grateful for the extensive heating he’d insisted on installing when he’d renovated - he relished the feel of the smooth wooden steps under his bare feet, and moved straight through to the kitchen. Bread, milk, cheese, potatoes; he’d picked up the essentials at Sae’s on the way home to make a basic meal, and planned to eat, pass out in front of the television, then sleep until midday.

He tried not to wonder if Katniss would show up.

The time away had given him not only time to focus on work, but also a lot of time to think - about her, about him, about what that afternoon in her house meant. It had been the first time he’d been in that kind of situation for a long time, and afterwards, he’d been full of mixed emotions.

He’d been with one person since Cass, something he’d regretted almost immediately after it had happened. He’d thought he’d wanted the release, the rush, the mindless coupling in the dark where he wouldn’t have to think about anything. Had thought he’d needed it, too.

The night spent with a casual acquaintance of Portia’s that he’d met a few times over the years had been unexpected and unplanned. A chance meeting at a restaurant in DC had led to her tentative invitation to her hotel room, and three years of celibacy had all but blocked out the voice telling him to say no.

Afterwards, he’d cursed himself for not listening to the voice. Sex to him meant a relationship, and a relationship meant being involved with someone, and being involved with someone meant a connection - and all of that, he’d steadfastly sworn off after Cass. In the end, after a surprisingly gracefully accepted apology along with an awkward goodbye just before midnight, he’d resolved firmly never to do anything like it again.

He’d once told Katniss he wasn’t looking for anything serious, or a one night stand, and though he’d meant it at the time, deep down he’d already known his stance around ‘nothing serious’ had been futile. Peeta was an all or nothing kind of guy, and he’d already taken a step in the direction of breaking his resolve the minute he’d walked into that bakery to work.

He’d just tried to ignore it, until Katniss had inadvertently chipped away at his walls so much that it was impossible.

Peeta absently filled the coffeemaker with water, opened the bread bin to pull out the standard supermarket loaf he’d reluctantly bought at Sae’s because he’d missed the bakery closing. And froze at the sound of a knock at the front door.

Part of him felt like he was 16 again, and his high school girlfriend was knocking at the door. The other part felt entirely too Murtagh for this shit.

He didn’t even know if it was her or not.

Shutting the lid to the bin with a snap, Peeta headed down the hallway, spied a flash of red in amongst the barren trees and snow through the glass panel beside the front door. And knew it was the Odair’s car.

Fixing a look of disinterest on his face - _dammit he wanted her, but he didn’t want it to be completely obvious he wanted her, how high school was that? - _he pulled open the door to see her leaning against the frame, her loosely twisted braid looping a snaking trail over her shoulder, a deep green coat grazing her knees, and sturdy brown boots encasing her feet.

“Hi,” she greeted flippantly. If the disinterest on his face had a tone to match it, she had it in spades. It was almost as though this was their default ‘in person’ reaction to each other; even though they’d already kissed, even though they’d already had their hands all over the other, even though they’d already acknowledged the attraction between them.

“Hi,” Peeta replied. He scratched the back of his neck nonchalantly, mirrored her pose on the other side of the doorframe.

"Long work trip," Katniss said, folding her arms across her chest.

"Yeah it was.”

"Get everything done that you needed to?"

"To avoid having to go anywhere for the next month, yeah."

“Successful then.”

“Sure.” He shifted his jaw slightly, felt it crack with the movement as he relished his next words before they were even spoken. “I guess the bakery has gone downhill since I left?”

“Oh ha ha,” Katniss retorted hotly, and he had to stop himself from grinning at how easy she was to play, how easy it was for her to get her back up. “I’ll be sure to tell the Odairs of the extensive faith you have in them.”

“I’m sure they’ll understand,” Peeta replied, and he knew Finnick would. They’d - initially begrudgingly on his part - formed a friendship of sorts, and Finnick loved getting a rise out of Katniss as much as Peeta did. For completely different reasons, of course, but it had made for plenty of jokes in the bakery. “You here as the welcome back committee?”

“It’s possible I’ve changed my mind about why I’m here,” she countered. “But regardless, it’s freezing out - and you’re only wearing a shitty threadbare t-shirt, so cold much. Can I come in?”

“By all means,” he guided her in like the assistant on Wheel of Fortune gesturing to the word puzzle, closed the door and watched as she went through the same process of removing her outer gear like she had at Haymitch’s. To his disappointment there was no Christmas sweater. “So what brought you here?”

“I visited Annie and Dylan today, and I was being a pain in the ass complaining about stuff, so she basically told me to get my shit together.”

“You came here to bitch to me about Annie? Because I have to tell you, the whole bitching and sympathy thing isn’t really me.”

He watched as her nose scrunched up, as her mouth shifted into a scowl.

_Damn he'd missed that curled lip._

"Good to see you haven't changed," she replied, pushing her braid off her shoulder so it trailed down her back.

"It’s gonna take a hell of a lot more than a few weeks out of town to suddenly bring sympathy out of me in spades.”

She scoffed. "Oh, you’re sympathetic, I know you are. You just choose to pretend not to be."

He leant against the wall behind him. "What makes you so sure?"

"It ekes through sometimes, when you least expect it. You probably don’t even realise it." Katniss shook her head. "Anyway, that's not even why I'm here, though thanks for the assumption.  Instead, Annie basically reminded me that right now, my issues have nothing on hers. At least mine are easily rectified. I think."

He quirked a brow. “Really? What would these issues be?”

Her arms folded across her chest again. “Well if I’m going to be perfectly honest...mostly you,” Katniss said bluntly.

“I’m an issue?”

“Undoubtedly.”

He laughed; a short, sharp bark. “Well, I could say the same, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” Katniss snapped. “I hate when Haymitch calls me that, I don’t need you doing it too.”

“Then what do you want me to call you?” He lowered his voice so that it almost rumbled out of his chest like a growl. He knew it was dangerous, but it was the one game he was willing to play.

Because he’d wanted to get her naked from the moment she’d stepped out of the car.

“I don’t want you to call me anything,” She retorted, took a step towards him.

“Then what do you want?” _Say it, say it, say it_.

She planted her hands on her hips. “You, from the moment you walked out of my house on Christmas Day.”

"And that's an issue?" He felt his stomach clench and tighten as the need coursed through him at her words.

He watched her swallow heavily. "Mostly because I sat here for almost four weeks, wondering what the hell we're doing."

He stared at her for a moment, felt his hands clench into fists at his sides before he spoke. "Then it's good we're on the same page because dammit, I’ve wanted _you_ ,” he bit out. He didn’t register his own steps towards her, didn’t even think twice as he crushed his mouth to hers, as he banded his arms around her waist in the way he told himself he hadn’t thought of doing over a dozen times while he was away.

Her mouth was warm and needy, though the tip of Katniss’ nose was cold, and pressed against his cheekbone. Her hands reached up and clenched around his neck, pressing herself in close to him as her lips moved eagerly against him, as her mouth opened and her tongue slid desperately against his. He felt his hips jerk, felt the blood rush from his head and his heart begin to race, and knew that he really couldn’t let another day go by without feeling her wrapped around him, over him, under him.

But even with a hazy mind full of want and need, he knew he couldn’t take her upstairs. Not yet.

_But_.

He pulled away slightly, his breath coming in fits and starts as he rested his forehead against hers. “If this is going where I think it’s going, uh, I’m going to need to go upstairs and get something.”

Katniss choked under her breath. “In my jacket pocket,” she muttered.

Peeta coughed out a laugh. “Really? Always prepared?”

“More like Finnick shoved it in there on the way out the door.”

He sent up a silent thank you. “He’s a good man.”

“Shut up, Peeta.”

He obliged, though he really had no choice as Katniss popped up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his again, effectively silencing him as her hands slid down his back, tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt impatiently. He simply lifted his arms and let her drag it over his head.

And he couldn’t wait anymore.

Bending slightly and reaching down to slid his forearms behind her thighs, he lifted her up, waited for her legs to wrap around his waist tightly before he palmed her ass, drawing her in even closer to him. He crossed to her jacket, retrieved the cluster of silver foil packets and strode down the hall purposefully, while her hands tugged at the curls at the nape of his neck and her mouth worked at his collarbone; he swore he saw stars when her teeth scraped against the taut skin.

_He was a goner._

Peeta pivoted into the spare room, the one with the best view of the lower cliffs, though right now, he didn’t give a damn. They tumbled onto the bed, a tangle of limbs as they fought their way free of clothes; he rose to his feet as he practically yanked her jeans down her thighs and tossed them blindly across the room.

He stood at the end of the bed and stared down at her dumbly, her face flushed and her olive skin made even darker by the black underwear she wore; a stark contrast against the blinding white of the cotton quilt. Her lips parted as though she was going to say something, then firmed together again, and instead she took a deep breath.

Like the 16 year old guy he’d felt like earlier, the sight of her barely concealed breasts just about spilling out with the movement almost did him in.

“I swore we wouldn’t end up here,” he told her, lifting his eyes to hers, noted the grey was hot and molten and fierce.

Katniss shook her head. “I didn’t think I wanted to.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else right now.”

“Neither would I.”

The corner of Peeta’s mouth curled up, and he reached for her foot, tugged on it slightly until she was at the edge of the bed and he could bend down to cup her cheeks, bring her mouth to his. Her palms rested on the flat of his stomach, the short, stubby nails scratching lightly against the flesh until the muscles quivered under the touch. And then in a move swifter than one of his own wrestling manoeuvres in high school, he was suddenly flat on his back on the bed, and she was hovering over him, her fingers digging into his shoulder blades as she straddled his waist.

Peeta looked up at her, reached his hand up until he was tugging the band on the end of her loose braid free; she shook her head obligingly, the raven waves tumbling over her shoulders, down her back.

_Holy shit, she was stunning._

His fingers dug into her hips, and he slid one hand up her back until he quickly unsnapped her bra - _some things you never forgot how to do_ \- her breasts spilling out in front of him. He inhaled sharply at the sight, lifted his head slightly to take one of the dusky peaks into his mouth.

And she moaned, rocked against him, encouraging him to suck and lick and nip even more, eagerly dividing his time between both breasts as she moved sinuously above him. And he knew no matter how much he wanted this to last, he wanted her even more.

There was always the next time, after all.

They rolled over the cool sheets, hands gliding over smooth skin, gripping at curves, digging into flesh. They frantically tugged at the final swatches of cotton that separated them, and Peeta bit down hard enough on his lip to draw blood when he cupped her, when he pressed his fingers against her in a smooth, gentle circular motion and she cursed against his cheek on a heated breath.

“Katniss, I need-”

“Me too. Now. I feel like I’ve already waited too long for this.”

He nodded, swallowed nervously, reached across to the side table where he’d tossed the strip of silver packets, his eyes practically crossing as Katniss’ mouth lowered to his chest, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses across the skin. He tore at one, fumbled with it one handed until he looked up at her questioningly; she didn’t respond, just nipped it from his fingers and lifted herself up onto her knees so that she could roll it down over the length of him.

Peeta thought that maybe they’d take _this_ part slow, prolong it for as long as they could - after all, they’d already danced around each other for months. But when he locked eyes with her, when her hand reached up to link with his on the sheet beside their bodies, he knew she wasn’t going to waste another minute.

She sank down on him swiftly; his eyes rolled back in his head at the feeling of himself finally, _finally_ inside of her.

They set a rhythm, a fast and frantic one, their hips pistoning against each other as they raced towards the finish line. Skin was slick with sweat, her hair fell around them like a curtain, their mouths bruising and hungry against each others. Peeta knew by the way she suddenly rose up with her back bowed, the way her eyes closed, the way her mouth opened and her constant murmurings of _oh god oh god oh god_ , that she was close. And he knew it in himself, as his stomach clenched, as his body tensed, as his head felt as though it was full of nothing and everything at the same time.

Nothing had ever felt as good as her inside of him right now, and he wasn’t sure it ever would again.

He reared up and pressed his mouth to hers as it hit, as he thrust up into her one more time and they tumbled off the edge together.

********

_“Dude, this place is going to need a lot of work.”_

_“Wow, so astute. What an astounding professional opinion.”_

_“Shut up, asshole.”_

_Peeta laughed, and it was probably the first laugh that had fallen from his lips in months; it felt foreign and strange and...odd. He could see the happiness on his brother’s face at the sound, and shrugged. “Well, come on. You say it as though I don’t know it. But I’m well aware it’s going to need a lot of work; it doesn't matter because I know it’ll be worth it.”_

_Peeta drew the cold water bottle he held across his forehead, appreciated the way it helped to cool him down, the way the droplets of condensation ran down his skin. It might have still only been March, and snow was lingering on the ground like an annoying relative that just wouldn’t go away, but after a day of ripping up floorboards and tearing off wallpaper that was older than he was, he was sweaty and hot and exhausted._

_“It’s got good bones,” Aaran admitted. “Nice structure, an ideal base. Your plans improve on the initial design without taking away the history. So yeah, okay. It’ll be worth it...”_

_Peeta raised an eyebrow. “But?”_

_“You know Dad hates you being this far away,” Aaran told him bluntly, before gulping from his own water bottle._

_“But he also knows and understands why I’ve picked here.” His father was the only one who did - at least the real reason, anyway. He still hadn’t found the courage to tell his brothers, or his mother, about Cass’ betrayal. Aaran and Ethen would just badger him until he agreed to let them hunt down Adrian, while his mother would sigh in disappointment a lot, and purse her lips in the way he hated. Neither were reactions he wanted to deal with anytime soon._

_“Yeah, yeah, because it feels like ‘home’.” His older brother leant forward, incredulity all over his face. “But really? On the cliffs in freezing Maine, hours away from us, and even New York?”_

_Peeta sighed, slumped against the shitty, threadbare sofa that he’d bought from a second hand store to tide him over until the house was done and he could put proper furniture in. “I needed to start over, and I needed to start over somewhere new. You, of all people, should be able to understand that.”_

_“Starting my own contracting business and not going in with Dad and Ethen at the bakery is completely different.”_

_“Yes, but you needed something new. The bakery wasn’t for you, was it?”_

_Aaran took a deep breath, then let it out slowly as he placed his now empty water bottle on the floor. “No, it wasn’t.”_

_“This is the same for me. I can’t live in the same place as Mom and Dad, and I can’t go back to New York. I need somewhere that’s mine.” Peeta shrugged. “I’ve already spoken to Cinna - he’s even been up here to see the place - and he’s fine with me working remotely from here. I’ll never have to go to New York again.”_

_Aaran blinked. “Not even for meetings? Or projects?”_

_“I won’t work on NYC projects for Cinna and Associates anymore. They’re getting enough projects outside of the city that it won’t be a problem.”_

_He watched as his brother stretched out his legs and leant back on his palms, as he studied Peeta seriously. After living with two brothers throughout his childhood, Peeta was used to getting teased, for giving shit as good as he got, for wrestling like idiots in the park next to their house. But the concern in Aaran’s eyes was something he’d never seen - not even when he’d come to New York for Cass’ funeral, had he looked at him like that. It made him shift awkwardly, but he didn’t say anything, waited for Aaran to instead. “Look, Peet, I love you, man. And for as long as I can remember, you’ve wanted to create buildings. I swear to God, I heard you say ‘Architecture is art’ about thirty million times growing up - so much so that I wanted to punch you - and you wanted to do that in the city. So while I understand that you feel like this is your place now... I just don’t want you to regret this later.”_

_Peeta yanked himself to his feet, stalked from the room to stand in what was currently a dining area and where he planned to one day have a sunroom, stared out the dirty windows to the ocean below. He heard the squeak of floorboards behind him that announced that his brother had followed him there, but didn’t turn around. “I can make things anywhere. Maybe I limited myself by saying I wanted to work just in New York. But I want to be here. I...I can feel it, knew it the moment I saw the house as I drove past. It’s going to be home for me.” He half-turned, saw Aaran leaning against the doorframe. “I won’t regret it, I know I won’t.”_

_“You won’t get lonely?”_

_Peeta rolled his eyes, looked back out to the water. “I’ve had enough of people to last me a lifetime,” he said bitterly. "Lonely is something I don't even care about."_

_“Cass is gone,” Aaran said gently, “But you can’t hide yourself away forever. She’d want you to be happy.”_

_He opened his mouth, closed it again. He knew if he replied, it would be bitter; not the response of a man grieving, but a man full of anger and betrayal. A man who wasn’t sure when - or even if - he’d be happy again._

_So he didn’t say anything at all._

********

Looking across the room at the way Katniss’ dark hair spread out across the creamy pillow as she slept, thin streams of moonlight highlighting the bare expanse of her shoulder, Peeta knew that he hadn’t been lonely. He'd liked his solitude - still did.

But he really didn't mind that she was here either.

_Kitchen, sunroom, downstairs spare room. Baby steps._

He shifted slightly in the overstuffed armchair in the corner, fingers playing absently with the frayed hem of his pants as he studied her before turning back to the sketchbook he’d retrieved from the kitchen, and now had resting on his lap.

He slid out the pencil he’d tucked behind his ear, and began to add another drawing to the dozen he'd sketched of her while he’d been in Boston.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, for all your kudos and comments. This chapter took a little longer than normal because the words just weren't working for me, but hopefully you like it :)
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under sponsormusings, where I love to interact with others who love THG like me!


	15. Chapter 15

The sheets were soft and smooth against her skin, the thick quilt she was cocooned in keeping her warm against the early morning chill. Katniss stretched, and sighed, blinked her eyes as they adjusted to the darkness. She was pretty sure her alarm was going to go off at any moment, and it was days like this - when she was already exhausted the moment she woke up - that she regretted working at a bakery, and the early starts that came along with it.

She reached out to her bedside table, her hand feeling blindly for her alarm clock, concern beginning to set in when the table was empty, and free from the usual debris that covered it. And sat up, bolt right, as she remembered she wasn't in her bed. She wasn't even at home.

She was at Peeta's. In his bed. Naked.

_Holy shit_.

Glancing beside her, she didn't know whether she was relieved or disappointed to find that he wasn't curled up in the sheets beside her. Because she wasn't sure she could look at him right now if he was.

_Not just once. But twice. Oh god._

Reaching across to the other side of the bed once her eyes had acclimated to the dimness, she awkwardly held fast onto the sheet, keeping it drawn up to her chin as she slid her hand around the base of the single bedside lamp and flicked the switch. It bathed the room in a low, golden light, and she curiously took in the bedroom she hadn't looked at once, let alone twice, the night before.

It was simple - probably a guest room from the lack of personal effects - cream on cream furniture with accents the colour of faded moss. The quilt itself was the same green, and was thick and fluffy, much more luxurious than her own second hand one at home. A collection of prints lined one wall - seascapes and landscapes, she realised, as she squinted to see them better. None of the locations looked to be around the QMB area, but every single one of them had a familiar signature scrawled in the corner, one that she'd seen on dockets or pieces of paper around the bakery when he'd signed for a delivery.

Apparently Peeta could not only design buildings, but he could _draw_. Mountains, oceans, flowers, fields. And he could draw them incredibly, incredibly well.

Glancing out the window through the open drapes and at the sky that still hadn't begun to lighten, Katniss sighed, began looking around the room for her clothes. She knew she had to leave, and leave soon, if she was going to get to work on time.

Spotting her bra on the carpet beside the bed, she reached down and scooped it up, awkwardly trying to put it on under the quilt. She wasn't even sure why - if Peeta happened to walk in, it shouldn't matter because he'd obviously already seen her naked - but she did it anyway, following it with the black cotton underwear that she snatched up quickly from the foot of the bed.

Feeling slightly less vulnerable, Katniss slid from underneath the sheets, tugged on the jeans she found discarded in the corner, continued to scan the room for her shirt.

No shirt. _Great._

Folding her arms across her chest, Katniss scooted around to the other side of the bed, sighed in relief when she saw it crumpled up on the woven cream, grey and green rug. And was just slipping it over her head when she heard a throat clear.

"Morning."

Her head snapped up towards the doorway to see Peeta framed in it, leaning against the wooden trim, swirls of steam rising from the large mug he held.

"Uh, morning," she mumbled, dropping her gaze back to the floor, fingers fumbling with the hem of her shirt. Morning after nerves thundered through her.

"Find everything?"

"Yep."

"Are you okay?"

Katniss nodded, continuing to look everywhere but at him. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" The curiosity in his voice was enough to get her to finally - reluctantly - shift her gaze back across to him, and to focus on him properly. His hair was a blonde rumpled mess, a crease from his pillow cut an uneven line down his cheek and he hadn't even had the decency to put a shirt on.

He looked even better the morning after, and that alone made her stomach flip like crazy.

"Yeah. I just...I should probably leave soon. I need to get to work."

"Sure," he replied, and Katniss didn't know whether to feel disappointed or not that he wasn't arguing with her, begging her to stay.

And internally, she rolled her eyes. What a damned sap she was being.

Crossing the room, Peeta dropped down on the edge of the bed, held out the mug to her. "It's not the hot chocolate they make at the bakery, but it's close," he told her. "Figured you might need it."

Katniss stared at it for a moment, before reaching for it hesitantly. "Uh, thanks."

He nodded, watched her as she sipped at the liquid. It burnt her tongue slightly in her rush to swallow, but it was good. Better than good. In fact, she was pretty certain she hated him right now, it was that good. He had so many damned talents, it was ridiculous. And he kept them all hidden away in this big house.

"It's good," she murmured, and the smirk that crossed his face was confident and knowing.

"I know." He pushed himself up back up off the bed - pivoting on his foot and stretching slightly in a way that made his back muscles ripple and shift, and her thighs clench together tightly - and stepped towards the door. She felt a sudden wave of panic set in - was this where she told him how good it was? Were you even meant to _say_ how good it was? She couldn't remember. Dammit, she was so out of practice with this. She needed...

"Wait," Katniss called, waited for him to turn around. He looked at her expectantly. "I, uh, about last night."

"Yeah?"

Her cheeks burned as she forced the words out in a rush. "I, uh, just want you to know I don't regret it. It was...it was really..."

He nodded slightly, shoved his hands in the pockets of his sweats, inadvertently drawing the waistband down slightly, just enough for the memory of his hips pistoning against hers to flash before her eyes. She had to forcibly remind herself to look back up at him, to meet his gaze with hers, even while she knew her face had flared with colour. He waited another beat before replying, rocking back slowly on his heels. "I feel the same way," he finally said.

"Good."

"Good."

She tightened her grip around the mug, wondered if he knew the effect he was having on her. The corner of his mouth turning up just the slightest bit told her he did, and she inhaled sharply as he took a measured step towards her - at the exact same moment a loud, sharp buzzing echoed through the house. "Ahh, saved by the bell," he murmured, a hint of regret in his tone. "Or my oven at least."

She blinked. "What's...that supposed to mean?"

Peeta grinned this time - sharp and quick and just a little bit more than sly. "I just mean that thanks to the bread I had in the oven, you're going to make it to work on time." He lazily turned around as though he had all the time in the world, left the room without another word.

Exhaling loudly, Katniss thought that a bit of burnt bread and being late for work would probably have been worth whatever he'd had in mind.

* * *

He kissed her goodbye, stupidly long, and far too emphatically for before 6am. It was like one of those clichés, where he'd been given water after dying of thirst for so long, and now he wanted more.

He'd gotten a taste of Katniss and he wasn't sure how he'd gone for so long without it.

Peeta watched the red car trundle down the driveway from his front window, soft powdery snow flaring out from the wheels as it disappeared into the darkness. And the moment it was gone, he dropped to the sofa, scrubbed a hand across his hair.

He couldn't deny that despite his desperate need the night before, the worry had flit across his mind that he'd been out of practice, that he'd forgotten what to do. Getting her partially naked in her hallway was one thing; remembering the moves had been another thing entirely. But it was, like they all said, just like riding a bike - the moves were there, instinctive and familiar. And when he'd slid under the covers again later, his mind suitably relaxed enough to fall asleep after drawing, she'd turned to him in her sleep, her hand drifting over his chest until he'd clasped it in his own and kissed her awake. And they'd done it all over again.

So he hadn't slept. Not a wink. But, he supposed, it was a better reason for not sleeping than many of the other nights where that had happened.

Knowing he needed to get started on his own schedule for the day sooner rather than later, Peeta got into his morning routine - dressed for a run on the treadmill, scoffed down a banana and a slice of toast from the bread he'd decided to bake when he couldn't sleep, set up his work station so it was ready to go at 8am for the early conference call he'd set up with Cinna and Cressida. He wasn't as nearly as interested in running on a stationary machine for 45 minutes, but after almost a month in a hotel, he was kind of used to it. And the weather outside definitely wasn't playing nice for an outdoors run.

Dropping his phone into the drink holder of the treadmill, he slipped on his headphones, pressed the button that initiated his pre-programmed incline and speed preference. And immediately lost himself in the rhythm, step after step, the burn creeping into his calves and his chest until it faded again, and his muscles relaxed.

Radiohead was just giving way to Hozier when his iPhone lit up, and he saw the message from Finnick appear. With a wince, he slowed the machine down so that he was at a steady jog, slid his finger across the screen.

_Odair (sent 6:19am): Katniss looks like she hardly slept at all last night ;)_

Peeta scowled at the emojis that followed the single sentence - he didn't even realise he and Finnick were on emoji terms - and pressed the stop button on the treadmill, planted his hands on his hips. Sweat trickled down his forehead, down his neck and in between his shoulderblades, while he thought about an appropriate reply. And remembering the last time Finnick had teased him about Katniss, Peeta plucked his phone from the cup holder, knew exactly what his reply was going to be.

It was the first time he'd used the flipping the bird emoji.

* * *

_The mornings he opened the bakery with Finnick were always different - completely, utterly, totally - to the ones he spent with Katniss. He and Katniss had gotten into a routine, one they were both comfortable with, one that worked for both of them. He'd get things done, and done quickly, his only distraction the sway of Katniss' hips as she carried trays of pastries and doughnuts and slices through the swinging door, or the occasional times he'd managed to fix his mouth to hers and have to stop himself from devouring her in the middle of the kitchen. There was normally nothing but the sound of the oven, or the mixer, or the grinding of coffee beans, the occasional scrape of a chair or table as Katniss set up the front of house._

_But Finnick was another story entirely, and not just because there was zero chance of either of them wanting to kiss the other._

_For the most part, the guy was okay, and they got along alright - they worked well together, occasionally had decent conversations about common interests. But whereas Katniss only said something if it was absolutely necessary, Finnick talked. Constantly. He was in and out of the kitchen, sometimes for no reason in particular, like a bundle of energy that never ran down. And the music._ _The music._ _It was loud, and he sang along with it enthusiastically. It wasn't to say that Finnick was necessarily a_ _ bad _ _singer...but he certainly wasn't good either._

_And sometimes he really questioned Finnick's taste in music._

_Tuning out whatever overly poppy song was currently playing, Peeta turned back to the dough he was rolling out, more than happy with the consistency. He'd been surprised at how quickly it had all come back to him, even after being gone from the family bakery for so long. The repetition, the recipes that seemed imbedded in his brain, the simple touches that he'd learned at the feet of his father - they'd all come back to him as if he'd only be working in Mellark's the day before. And although he had no desire to make it long term, it had been nice to have that familiarity, that sense of comfort again._

_Cinna would tell him it was a healing mechanism, that it was a good thing. He'd probably just roll his eyes in response._

_Looking up quickly as the door swung open, he watched as Finnick popped his head in, his bronze hair hidden beneath a black beanie._

" _Yo, Peeta, you want a tea?" He asked, lifting his voice slightly to be heard over the music._

_Peeta nodded his head. "Sure." That was one thing he admired about Finnick - the man never forgot a damned order, and he'd remembered from day one that Peeta was tea, no sugar. Rarely coffee. Peeta was pretty sure that Finnick's keen memory - and ever present wink and charming grin combo - was one of the reasons so many middle-aged women got their coffee and a side of eye-candy spotting at the bakery every day._

_It was a few minutes later that the mug slid across the countertop into Peeta's line of sight, and he glanced up, tipped his head slightly. "Thanks," he muttered._

" _No worries," Finnick replied, hitching himself up onto one of the stools, leaning over quickly to turn the music down. "We've got 15 til we open, and I'm done. You mind if I hang out here til then?"_

" _It's your place, do what you want."_

" _I will," Finnick chuckled, propping his left foot up on his knee. "Which is why I'm going to ask you about Katniss."_

_Peeta's hands slipped on the rolling pin, landing in the pillowy dough, before he quickly yanked them back again. "Wait, what?"_

" _I wanted to ask you about Katniss."_

_He could hear the amusement in Finnick's voice, chose to ignore it. "What about her?"_

" _I heard the two of you were looking pretty cosy at the Hob a few Fridays ago."_

_The rolling pin went back and forth rapidly across the dough. "I think this town is full of gossipy bullshit."_

" _Oh, absolutely," Finnick agreed and sipped casually at his coffee, which Peeta knew would be sweetened to death. "But I'm pretty sure this scenario, while maybe not completely what Florence Cartwright says it was - has some sort of truth to it."_

" _Fuck, that Cartwright woman is about on the same level as Effie for gossip," Peeta muttered, rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm not here to fuel the town fires any more than I inadvertently have. I have nothing to say."_

" _Katniss told me too."_

_Peeta blew out a breath, looked up at Finnick balefully. "I know."_

_"You do?" The surprise in Finnick's voice was evident._

_"She already warned me you were going to ask me what my intentions are. But just because she told you doesn't mean_ _ I'm _ _ready to have a heart to heart moment with you."_

_"Ha!" Finnick laughed. "I can't believe she told you - I figured she was so pissed at me that she wouldn't have."_

_"Well, she did."_

_"So?"_

_"So what?"_

_Finnick straightened in his seat. "Intentions?"_

_With an unimpressed grunt, Peeta stepped away from the counter, fought the urge to flip Finnick the bird. "Seriously? I feel like I'm about to be interrogated by my Dad, asking me if I know how to use protection," Peeta groused, folding his arms across his chest. He remembered telling Katniss what he'd say if Finnick actually_ _ did _ _try and give him the whole intentions talk, but even as the words sat on the tip of his tongue, ready to be blurted out, they didn't feel right. So he swallowed them back, went on the defensive. "Is that really what you're here to do? Interrogate me? Because if that's the case, I'm out of here."_

_Finnick shrugged. "I'm not necessarily interrogating you. Just...asking some friendly questions."_

" _So basically the next best thing, right?"_

" _You're a smart guy, Peeta, and funnily enough, I like you," Finnick grinned. "And despite this whole mean guy, prickly persona you've got going on, it's pretty obvious to me that there's more to you than that. Not everyone would willingly help out strangers without expecting something back."_

" _You've been paying me," Peeta reminded him bluntly._

" _Oh, I know. But that's not what I mean. You've never once given the impression that you've been put out by helping us. I know you have your own work, your own career, and don't think that Annie and I don't know that, and have appreciated that. But you could have said no. And you didn't."_

_Peeta picked up his mug, raised it to his lips to buy himself some time. He didn't really know what to say. Mostly because he still didn't entirely understand why he'd said yes to them._

" _And you've asked both Annie and I about Dylan," Finnick continued. "If you were really as rude and uncaring as you generally appear to be, you wouldn't genuinely ask after a baby."_

" _How do you know it's genuine?"_

" _You don't seem like the kind of guy who would ask something just for forms sake. And you also don't seem like the kind of guy who would kiss a girl just for the hell of it."_

" _You don't know for sure what kind of guy I am."_

" _You're right, I don't," Finnick said simply. "But I go on gut instinct a lot, and my gut says you're okay. But…"_

" _But?" Peeta echoed._

_His voice sharpened, just slightly. Just enough to give his lazy, carefree tone a bit of an edge. "Katniss has become like family to us, and I'm watching out for her. So if you hurt her, I'll make you regret it."_

_Peeta ran his tongue across his teeth, inhaled slowly, taking his time to respond. "If I hurt Katniss," he finally said quietly, "It's not because I'll want to. It's because I won't know what to do."_

_Finnick's brow furrowed, his eyebrow raising in question. "What do you mean?"_

" _It means...it means…" Was he seriously going to be honest with this guy? More honest than what he'd been with anyone outside of his immediate circle in years? He watched the man with sea-green eyes hold his gaze unflinchingly, until Peeta finally placed his mug on the counter. "It means that I'm not used to trying not to hurt people."_

" _But you don't want to hurt her."_

_Peeta shook his head slightly. "No. I don't. But I don't necessarily want to let her in, either."_

" _Do you like her?"_

_Turning back to the dough, and continuing to roll it out, Peeta waited until he was comfortable enough saying the words out loud. "I've kissed her, and I want to keep kissing her, so I guess I damn well do."_

_Finnick laughed in response, and Peeta felt the clap of a hand on his shoulder; he stiffened at the touch, forced himself to relax. "Then that's all I need to know, Mellark. I'm gonna go open up. People want their bread, and you need to bask in the knowledge that it's your final day and life as you know it will return to normal."_

_Peeta waited until Finnick was gone and the kitchen door had stopped swinging before he closed his eyes, and sighed._

* * *

"I'm fairly certain they'll want at least one layer to be chocolate. Perhaps one of those fancy sounding ones with raspberry filling or something. Or maybe lemon..."

"Florence, have you actually spoken to Delly and Thom about this?"

"Well, sort of…"

Katniss watched on in amusement at the exchange in front of her, fought back a yawn that threatened to practically take over her face. After the initial embarrassment of Finnick making a smart ass quip about her being up all night, she'd dived into her work, appreciative that, despite the freezing weather, the bakery was busy and their stream of customers steady. It was also one of the few times she was happy they were so talkative, so chatty - the less downtime she had, the less chance there was of Annie trying to get the low down from her about last night. Finnick, thankfully, had been busy enough in the kitchen during the rest of their shared shift not to raise it again.

But even without talking about him, she'd still spent most of the day preoccupied by thinking of Peeta, and trying to tell herself _not_ to think about him.

Annie smiled genially at the older woman, capped the lid back on her pen. "I know you're excited about the engagement party, Florence, but what if Delly's already planned her own cake? You don't want some unnecessary expense, do you?"

Florence patted her hair - Katniss noted wryly that it was almost an exact replication of Effie's trademark gesture - and chewed thoughtfully on her bottom lip, the excitement in her eyes dimming. "Ayuh, I suppose you're right. I _should_ call Delly before I make any more plans, shouldn't I?"

"I think you should call Delly before _she_ makes any more plans," Annie corrected. "I always remember Delly being pretty damn exceptional with details in high school - she organised our prom to a perfect T. I'd say she's got everything under control, and she'll let you know whatever she needs you to do."

"She _is_ good with details, isn't she," Florence grinned, her momentary disappointment at not ordering a cake seemingly vanishing with a little positive talk about her only daughter.

"Certainly is. But let me know if she does want us to make a cake, okay? You don't even have to come in, just pop me an email. Or Delly can. Either way, you know we'd love to do something special for her."

"Of course, thank you. We all know you got the finest kind here, so if Delly don't want to, then I'll convince her otherwise." Florence hitched her purse more comfortably on her shoulder. "Now I better go call her - and Annie, bring that yow'un of yours in next time so I can smooch his cheeks, okay?" Like the whirlwind she was, Florence breezed out the door with a quick wave of her fingers, leaving Katniss and Annie staring after her.

"I don't think I know what just happened," Katniss admitted, tucking her fisted hands into the front pocket of her apron.

"I talked Florence out of buying a cake I know Delly doesn't want," Annie said with a grin. "I already spoke to Delly last night, after you left our place. She wants coconut and lime, one tier."

"Then why didn't you just tell Florence that?"

"Because it's about time she just _stopped_ , and listened to Delly. Poor girl, I was on the phone to her for almost an hour last night, while she told me how much Florence was practically taking over. Delly's about halfway across the line to eloping in Vegas right now."

"Her parents would kill her." Katniss didn't need to have grown up in QMB like Annie had to know that something like that would _not_ go down well in the Cartwright household.

"Which is exactly why I just did what I did. Trust me. I'll have an email from her by the end of the day, telling me that exact same order that I just told you. She'll be happy, and most importantly, Delly will be happy."

"Then I'm glad you're here, because I would have completely screwed all that up."

Annie laughed, bent down to reach for the order book they kept under the register. "You don't give yourself enough credit," she told her. "I'm just going to pre fill this order in preparation while you go-" she glanced up as the bell on the front door chimed, and a couple of women with toddlers in tow rushed in.

"It's okay, Annie, you keep doing that, I'll look after them," Katniss said quickly and turned her attention to the group, pasting a smile on her face. She served coffee and babychinos, plated up 2 éclairs and a couple of mini doughnuts, asked the simple questions Annie and Finnick had drummed into her to ask from her very first day. And jumped slightly when Annie bumped her hip with hers as she closed the register with a snap, as the group settled in at the table beside the window.

"Thanks Kat," she said with a smile. "Now go home, you were supposed to finish 15 minutes ago."

Katniss reached for the strings on her apron, then paused. "You sure? I know-"

"I'm sure. Rue will be here in ten to help me through the final hours and close, Finnick's already home with Dylan, and _you're_ going home, having a bath, and getting some sleep. You look exhausted, though I have no idea why."

Katniss glared at her, took in the innocent grin Annie had plastered on her face. _Just when she thought she'd gotten away scot free without another comment about it_. "You Odairs are the worst, just for the record."

"Love you too, Katniss. Now scat."

* * *

_Hi._

_I'm sorry I've been so slack. Life has just been busy lately, lots of things happening, lots of changes. Annie and Finnick are back running the bakery without Peeta's help, and while it's good for things to be back the way they were, it's strange without him there. I'd gotten used to him being there some days._

_But the familiar routine with Finnick and Annie is a place I'm comfortable in._

_Haymitch is getting over a cold, which is hilarious. I've told you before how grumpy he can be - just imagine that tenfold, with him surrounded by a mountain of tissues. Remember the Hobbit, from when we were kids? He's like Smaug with his gold, except his gold is white crumpled two-ply tissue._

_Gale's wedding is coming up. I've not been invited - and trust me, knowing Jo, the horrifying thought definitely entered my mind - but I'm still friends with one of the old housemates on Facebook (do NOT laugh at me. You know I hate it, but it's the easiest way to keep up with Madge when she travels) and she was at the bachelorette party. Jo looks good. Happy. (Even with the overly built stripper gyrating against her in some of the photos. Ew). But I guess that's what it's all about, right? Being happy._

_Which leads me to thinking that I suppose I should do the grown up thing and admit to you what I'm trying to avoid telling you. You're still my baby sister, you know, and telling you these things is weird. But...ah dammit._

_I slept with Peeta last night. I don't regret it one bit - and funnily enough, I don't think he does either._

_I think it's a good thing._

* * *

"I didn't expect to see you tonight."

Katniss rested her head against the side of the door, tried to keep the smile off her face at the sight of Peeta on her porch. Her afternoon had been blessedly quiet, and while it had been nap free, she'd had the bath - which had worked wonders - and written a few emails, reluctantly caught up on social media.

But the knock on her front door just after 7 had been unexpected.

Though very, very welcomed.

He shrugged, held up a small Mason jar. "I need sugar. Help a neighbor out?"

"You're not my neighbor," she reminded him.

"You've lived here long enough by now to know that everybody is everyone's neighbor. So...sugar?" He wiggled the jar at her. "If I tell you it's for cinnamon buns, will it get me over the line?"

"Why didn't you say so?" She sighed dramatically, opening the door wider. "They're the one thing I miss since you stopped working at the bakery."

"One thing?" He said wryly, turning to face her as she closed the door.

"Yes," she confirmed. "Though I think Annie is about to nail the recipe on the head, and then you'll be nothing but a distant memory." She said it flippantly, wanted to see if he'd react.

"Good for her," he fixed a look of disinterest on his face. "I don't miss a thing about the bakery."

Okay, so he'd trumped her with that one.

With her own shrug of indifference, she breezed past him down the hall to the kitchen, catching a whiff of soap and aftershave and cinnamon as she passed. The smells she'd begun to associate with Peeta. The ones that made her stomach twist in all the best ways. "So you need white or brown sugar?"

"White. For the icing."

"Then you're in luck." Opening the pantry, Katniss lifted up on her toes, reached for the container she kept on the top shelf. And paused at the feel of an arm sliding around her waist, splayed fingers inching under her sweater. Her stomach somersaulted again, even while she fought to keep her voice steady. "Excuse me, neighbor. I do believe this kitchen manoeuvre is becoming a habit."

"I like to do things until I get them right." His mouth was close to her ear, his breath hot on her cheek.

"Well...I guess I can't argue with that."

"We can argue if you want."

"Annie said…" she trailed off as his lips pressed to the back of her neck. "Annie said arguing is like foreplay for us."

She felt his laugh against her skin, the rumble of his chest as he pulled her into him. "Then we have some pretty damned good foreplay, wouldn't you say?"

"The best," she murmured, as his hand wandered to the waistband of her jeans. "I thought you were here for sugar."

"I lied." He spun her around, slanted his mouth over hers.

They went from zero to a hundred in an instant.

She couldn't get his shirt off quick enough, he couldn't tug her jeans down over her hips any faster. They rammed into the kitchen table, the doorframe, mouths branding, hands grasping, hips plunging against each other for any kind of friction.

If he wasn't inside her in less than a minute, she was afraid she'd scream in frustration.

They stumbled down the hall, through her bedroom door, onto her bed, one of his hands tugging at her underwear while the other arm bracketed his body over hers. He fixed his mouth to her neck, down to her collarbone, nipping and lathing his tongue across the skin.

She closed her eyes, stretched her neck in offering. "Don't…"

"Don't?" He paused, his breath hot and heavy on her face. His blue eyes stared down at her, the need and heat in them obvious.

"Don't stop," Katniss burst out, biting down on her lower lip. "Just…"

He cut her off with another searing kiss, tongues tangling as their bodies twisted around each other, stripping away the last vestiges of clothing, rolling on the condom Peeta hurriedly produced from his pocket. Even in her lust-fueled haze, Katniss laughed until he kissed it away.

This time, he'd been the one who was prepared.

Peeta moved over her again, locked his gaze with hers and slid into her slowly, hips sinuously thrusting against hips, skin sliding against skin, hands grasping together as their pace picked up again, until she swore her whole body was about to burst.

She moaned, long and loud and drawn out, when she pulsed around him, was still shuddering with the aftershocks as he reached his own completion, and his own guttural moan echoed in her ears.

And her only thought was _yes_.

* * *

Peeta startled awake, his eyes flying open, his body immediately tensing at being pulled so abruptly out of sleep. He rubbed at his eyes, tried to get his bearings, before finally remembering why he wasn't at home - where he was, what he'd been doing. Exhaling slowly, his gaze slid to his left, at the way Katniss was curled up under the sheets, her eyelids fluttering slightly in sleep and her breathing even and slow.

He hadn't intended to fall asleep, had only meant to close his eyes for a few minutes after his body had calmed down and his heart rate had eased. But glancing down at the watch on his wrist, he realised that a few minutes had accidentally become a full sixty. Peeta couldn't deny he'd needed it though. After last night, and a long day at his drawing board, his body - and mind - had been exhausted. Though obviously not exhausted enough to be able to have another round tonight, he thought wryly.

He'd told himself a dozen times on the drive to her house that his intention wasn't necessarily for it to happen again so soon, but he'd known deep down he was kidding himself – and the foil packet he'd slipped in his pocket before he left the house had been a dead giveaway.

He just hadn't had enough of her.

Looking up as he heard a loud buzz, he noted Katniss' phone on her bedside table, watched the screen light up. He realised that could have been the sound that had yanked him from sleep - the vibration was loud against the dark wood, the edge of the phone bumping against the lamp base creating an echo. He wondered how the hell Katniss was sleeping so soundly through the damn thing.

Rolling his neck slightly to try and dislodge a knot that had formed during his nap, he hunkered down back into the pillow, figured if Katniss was going to keep sleeping, he may as well too. Until her phone went off again. And again.

Geez, someone _really_ wanted to talk to Katniss.

Peeta looked down at the way the ends of her hair trailed across his shoulder, long black tendrils that brushed and teased against his skin. He absently twisted his fingertips through it, quickly pulling his hand away when her eyes flickered open and looked across at him.

"Sorry," she murmured, fighting a yawn. "Was I asleep long?"

He shook his head. "I'm not sure, I was asleep as well. But your phone was going off like crazy," he told her. "Late for something?"

Katniss sighed, rolled over to reach for the phone on her nightstand. "It's just Facebook," she grumbled, flopping onto her back and wincing at the notifications.

"Facebook?" He couldn't keep the distaste out of his voice. He'd had one, once upon a time, deleted it when all he ever saw was baby photos, engagements, or messages from people giving him condolences a year after it all happened. He didn't miss it one bit.

"Yeah, don't worry I hate it too," she told him. "But it's the easiest way for me to keep in contact with a friend of mine who is forever traveling. Today, though, I made the mistake of commenting on a photo of a friend, and now I get notified every damn time someone else comments."

Peeta screwed his nose up. "Can't you turn that off?"

"You can, but I'm on there so little I always forget until it's too late." She glared at her phone as another comment came through. "Shit."

"What?"

"Glimmer just commented _again_. Great. Next thing I know she'll be..."

The rest of Katniss' sentence was drowned out by a roaring in Peeta's ears. Glimmer. _Glimmer_.

Memories of conversations with Cass, photos from her college days, snarky comments about her bitchy sorority sister.

_It had to be her. How many people in the world would have the name Glimmer?_

"Did you just say Glimmer?" Peeta blurted, oblivious to the fact that Katniss was in the middle of a sentence.

She eyed him curiously, burrowed under the sheet a little more. "Yeah I did. Why?"

"Glimmer Roberts?"

Katniss' eyes narrowed, her voice sharpening. "How do you know Glimmer?"

Peeta shook his head in disbelief, banked down the inevitable emotions that filled him when he thought of Cass. "I just knew someone who went to the college with her, that's all. And Glimmer isn't exactly a common name. So I figured…"

Her face relaxing at his words - Peeta wondered if she'd somehow thought Glimmer was an ex or something - Katniss snorted. "No it's definitely not. She's...one in a million."

"You're friends?"

Katniss rolled her eyes. "Hardly. Reluctant housemates back in Panem. Apparently she never graduated college after being caught doing a few...favors for grades, if you know what I mean."

Peeta clenched his jaw tightly, almost felt the teeth grind together. "Yeah, that's what I heard too. But she moved to Panem, huh?"

"From wherever she was from, yeah. Never heard which college it was she dropped out of, and she never really talked about where she was from. But the last time I saw her, she was working at some fashion boutique. Which would make you think she could afford her own jeans, but the bitch still stole mine."

"She stole your jeans?"

"My favourite pair. Anyway, does your friend still know her?"

Peeta shook his head, felt his heart thud heavily in his chest at the thought that somehow, through less than six degrees, Katniss and Cass had known the same person. Had _lived_ with the same person. It was almost like the time he'd heard Rue's name in the bakery, but about a hundred times worse. Because at least Rue was associated with positivity…. "No. They were never friends. Just had the misfortune of being acquaintances." Plucking the phone from her hand, he dropped it onto the carpeted floor, forced himself to relax. He didn't want to talk about Glimmer, didn't want to think about Cass. Didn't want to get sucked into that dark place that he inevitably got sucked into. Not now.

"Anyway, enough about that," he muttered. "I've got better things to think about."

He rolled Katniss onto her back and kissed her senseless.

That was a _much_ better thing to think about.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N - Thank you for reading, for your kudos and comments :)


	16. Chapter 16

If someone had told her 6 months ago that this was how she'd be spending her Friday night, she would have laughed. Mockingly, incredulously - probably an odd sounding combination of both - and then demanded they place a bet on it. Easy money.

But if a bet _had_ been placed, they would have been right, and she would have been out at least a twenty. Because right now Katniss was definitely lying in her bath, bubbles up to her neck, the scent of chamomile surrounding her, with Peeta Mellark sitting on the tiled floor, his back against the tub, legs stretched out in front of him and his eyes closed.

This was not a Friday night she ever would have anticipated.

Katniss trailed her hand through the water and studied the hair at the back of his neck, the way the blond strands had curled from the steam and dampness in the air. She'd initially offered to share her bath with him when she'd told him she had a Friday night ritual she wanted to complete, but he'd declined, said he had to return a missed call. She hadn't been offended - in all honesty, her bath was _her_ time, so she'd been kinda glad he'd said no - and had closed the door, lowered the dimmer and run the water until it had been so hot it felt like it would strip her skin from her bones, the scents from Sae's bubble bath permeating the room. So she'd been surprised when, not more than ten minutes later, Peeta had knocked on the door and unceremoniously plonked himself down on the floor. He hadn't said a word since, and neither had she.

Admittedly, she couldn't deny that she kind of liked the familiarity of it.

A month had passed since they'd finally fallen into bed together, a month where they didn't discuss whatever 'they' were, but instead a month where they'd mostly acted like jackrabbits every time they got a moment alone. More often than not, Peeta had found his way to her house after he finished his work for the day, and so far they'd christened practically every surface of the place.

_Which had made her feel suitably uncomfortable when Sae had come over for coffee the afternoon after they'd enthusiastically done it on her sofa._

Occasionally, he'd stayed the night, though whether it had been intentional or from sheer exhaustion, Katniss wasn't sure. But the mornings she woke beside him - grateful for her thick quilts and his added body heat in the freezing temperatures of February - she would already have a smile on her face.

It kind of worried her at the same time that it didn't.

They'd gotten into a routine of using the field track at the local high school - the beach still far too affected by winter to be an appealing stretch to run - early enough in the day that hardly anyone saw them, had even done a Netflix marathon one Saturday without even arguing once. He'd attempted to teach her his cinnamon bun tricks of the trade one Sunday afternoon, and while she'd failed miserably - sweets were just _not_ her forte - he'd licked a streak of cinnamon sugar off her cheek, kissed her until her head spun, then stripped her in the middle of his kitchen and had moved his mouth eagerly over and down her body until her thighs had clenched, quivering, around his head. Afterwards, breathless and boneless, she'd figured that was a success far more satisfying than learning how to bake.

Thinking about it now, she didn't think she'd ever been this insatiable, and it was almost a little embarrassing at how much she wanted him. But at least every time she wanted him, he wanted her.

"Everything alright?" Katniss finally asked after another couple minutes of silence.

He nodded slowly, opened one eye. "So my brother's girlfriend is pregnant."

Katniss felt her eyes pop open wide. Family was something they still hadn't really discussed - _and she'd never pushed it, because hell, she wasn't too keen on bringing it up herself anyway_ \- and to hear him mention it so casually was surprising. "Is this a, uh, good or bad thing?"

"Good," he said, opening his other eye. "But then after she told me that, my mom spent the next five minutes on one of her tirades."

Katniss snorted, then waved away the foamy bubbles that bobbed just under her chin, mentally filing away the little bits of information he was dropping. "Seriously? A tirade after news like that?"

The wryness in his bright blue irises was clear. "Deliah Mellark: Serial nagger and possibly one of the most opinionated people you'll ever meet." The corner of his mouth twitched. "As happy as Mom is about the next generation of Mellarks, she's also pissed because they're not married and she's as traditional as all hell. Sometimes annoyingly so."

Katniss rested her head against the edge of the tub, enjoying this little insight and side to Peeta she'd yet to see. He was still standoffish at times, still biting when he wanted to be, kept a lot of himself locked inside. But this... _This_ she felt, was a good step. "Have they been together long?"

"Aaran and Maddy?" His eyes glazed over as though he was calculating the time. "Maybe a year? I never really figured for him to be a dad though."

"Why?"

"I dunno exactly. But he always seemed like the consummate bachelor, even with Maddy. So I just never saw him settling down like Ethen."

"Ethen?"

This time he shifted slightly so his arm was propped on the edge of the porcelain, the hem of his t-shirt dragging into the water. "Oldest. Then Aaran. Then me."

 _Three_. "So you're the baby. That explains a lot." She said it with her tongue firmly planted in her cheek, and in response he smirked, reached into the bath and flicked bubbles up into her face. "See? Told you."

"Well if we're playing that game, I guess I'd peg _you_ as an oldest child," he retorted.

Katniss felt her stomach pitch, and the water suddenly felt like it had cooled by ten degrees. _Dammit, she'd walked right into that one_. She turned her head, looked up at the ceiling before responding. "Yep. I'm the oldest," she replied, tried to keep her voice level. She must have succeeded, because his own tone didn't change.

"I knew it," Peeta said, slid his arm lower under the water, trailed his fingers up her arm teasingly. "Anyway, now that we've established our running order, I'm starved. You hungry?" She nodded in reply, kept her eyes on the ceiling. "You still have that chicken in the freezer you had in there last weekend?"

"Yeah."

"Alright." He pulled himself to his feet, wiped his now wet arm on the bottom of his shirt. "I'll go get it started while you finish up, okay?"

"Okay."

He walked out, and she silently watched him go, her heart no longer light, but instead heavy and full of Prim.

* * *

_Fuck._

He'd said something, and he still didn't know what it was. He'd been trying, pretty damn hard, for weeks now to try and not be so short and closed off, or his usual asshole self. Tried to take the advice from his dad, from Cinna, from Haymitch, to move on, to be happy. He figured he'd been doing relatively okay, but with one simple off the cuff comment, one simple question, _she'd_ shut down, not him.

He'd seen it in her eyes, had watched as her shoulders stiffened below the clouds of white bubbles, as she'd shifted her now empty gaze to the ceiling. All because of a joke about being the oldest.

The minute Peeta had pulled up at Katniss' and retrieved the frantic voicemail his mother had left after he'd missed her call, he'd known it could only be about one of three things - a baby, a wedding, or a good old nagging session. His mother rarely called him otherwise – his dad was the communicator, the one who called up 'just because', or 'just to chat'. Katniss wanting some alone time had thankfully provided him the opportunity to return the call - he definitely didn't have the patience for his mother to interrupt his Friday night any more than she already had; from the sound of her voice, he'd figured she'd be calling him every five minutes until he answered.

_Better to stave that scenario off before it even started._

Hearing about his brother's impending fatherhood had been a surprise, had thrown him off so much that he hadn't even thought twice about sharing the news with Katniss. He'd realised the moment the words had fallen out of his mouth that they were covering ground neither had walked on during the last few months, but he'd seen the shock, and the approval, on her face as he'd shared. So he'd made a conscious effort not to stop, to keep going with his news.

And then somehow, it had all gone to shit, and he knew she was upset.

_Fuck. He knew he'd be bad at this. Why the hell had he even bothered to try?_

The more time he'd spent with her, the more he'd confirmed that Cinna was one of the most observant people he'd ever met. There was a side to Katniss, one she'd hid well under a security blanket of sarcasm and indifference that spoke to him on a level he understood. He did it himself, after all. But there was hurt there, and sorrow, and he'd begun to wonder often what it was.

He didn't ask though. Because he knew _he'd_ hate to be asked why.

Maybe he should have asked.

_Too late now, dumbass._

He slammed the door to the microwave closed, programmed the defrost function for the chicken, then stomped over to the pantry, dug out a bag of dry pasta, began pulling out spices at random. Katniss definitely didn't have the selection he had at home, but he'd have to make do. After all, it was just dinner, and he didn't have to impress-

"Her name was Prim."

At the sound of her voice, Peeta slowly pivoted, turned to see her framed in the doorway, her ebony hair pulled up in a haphazard bun on the top of her head, a ratty grey robe engulfing her body. She looked everywhere but at him, her cheeks pale and her eyes dark.

He nodded, leant against the pantry door, waited for her to continue. Her use of past tense had already made his stomach twist painfully.

Her fingers tangled together in front of her as she breathed out slowly. "She was 4 years younger than me, as fair as I'm dark, as friendly and light-hearted as I'm not. She liked craft, and took in animals that had no chance at life until she nursed them back to health. She liked the Jonas Brothers and Jessica Simpson and How I Met Your Mother and American Idol, and drove me insane with every single one of them. She'd never had a boyfriend, though I'm certain she'd kissed a couple of boys. She wanted to be a nurse. And then...she wasn't."

She said the words in a rush, as though they were painful to release, and the quicker she said them, the easier they'd be. But it didn't make it any easier to see the hurt in her eyes.

He wondered when she'd managed to dig herself in deep enough in his bones that her hurt made _him_ hurt.

"I'm sorry," Peeta said simply, knowing there wasn't much more he could say. She nodded once, kept her gaze on the floor. "Do you...want to talk about it more?"

"No. You shared about your brothers, and I, uh, just felt like you needed to know. I just…"

"Want to eat?"

Katniss looked up at him gratefully; he knew well enough that sometimes distraction was what you needed when you were thinking about something you didn't want to think about. "Yeah. Let's just eat. I'll get the plates ready," she said quietly, crossed the room to the pull out drawer that contained her flatware. She glanced over her shoulder, her grey eyes softer and quieter than he'd seen them before. "And thanks."

They cooked in silence, ate in silence, and later that night, for the first time, curled up in her bed without the thought of sex on either of their minds.

* * *

"I told him about Prim."

Annie's eyes widened, and she slid the tray full of dirty cups, saucers and plates onto the counter, the porcelain rattling against each other in her haste.

"Holy shit," she breathed. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Katniss muttered, absently tugged on the edge of her apron. She'd been wanting to tell Annie all day about the night before with Peeta, but - as was typical on a Saturday - they'd been run off their feet, with barely a chance to think, let alone talk. Though with the last customer finally bustling out the door, the 'Closed' sign up, and Rue out the back stacking the dishwasher, Katniss finally had the moment she'd needed. "But I didn't mean to."

"What do you mean _you didn't mean to_? You didn't just pluck the topic out of thin air, did you?" Annie retrieved a dishcloth from under the counter, moved towards the table that she'd just cleared off, began to wipe it clean. "How did it come about?"

"I, uh…" Katniss crossed the floor, pushed the chairs in under the table. "He told me his brother's girlfriend was pregnant. And we got onto the subject of his siblings, I made a joke, he made a joke...except then it all made me think of Prim. My mood plummeted, and I just knew I had to tell him."

Annie's head bobbed up and down slowly, and she quickly glanced towards the kitchen door to make sure Rue was still occupied. The repetitive clinking of utensils and plates told them she was. "You guys hadn't spoken about family before that?"

"No."

"After this long? What do you guys do, just bone all the time?" Katniss felt the blush creep up her neck onto her cheeks, and Annie smirked. "Okay, I guess it's still early days."

"And neither of us are the most forthcoming of people either," Katniss reminded her bluntly.

"I know," Annie replied, and this time her voice was soft, gentle. "So this was kind of your first serious discussion?"

Katniss nodded, headed back to the counter and waited for Annie to follow before she continued. "We talk about general stuff, I guess - music and movies and food and tv, whether we're interested in watching Zoolander 2, how much we both hated Walt but loved Jesse-"

"Who didn't?" Annie interrupted, then waved her hand in apology. "Sorry, go on."

"So yeah, we talk, but...we've never gone into anything too in depth about our families."

"You've already told him about Gale though, right?"

Katniss nodded. She had, after the facebook communication frenzy. It had been weird - telling him she'd commented on the bachelorette party photos of the future wife of her ex - but she'd still elected not to go into too much detail. The last thing he probably needed to know was that her last relationship had ended because she'd walked out in the middle of the night, and that it had really been borne of nothing more than convenience, and a passing sexual attraction. Not that _they_ were in a relationship, she amended in her head. "Yeah, I did. A little bit, anyway."

"And so you now know that he has a brother-"

"Two."

"Two, and he knows you have Prim."

" _Had_."

Annie sighed. "Katniss, you'll always have Prim whether she's here or not. Just because she's gone doesn't make her not your sister anymore."

Katniss chewed on her bottom lip, tugged on the end of her braid at Annie's reply. Even though her friends here had never met her sister, they still spoke of her as though they had. Spoke of her with affection, because _Katniss_ always had. "I know. But yeah. He knows about Prim, and I know that his mom is a nagger of epic proportions."

Annie's eyebrows flew up. "Oh really?"

"Apparently."

"Good to see some parents are all alike," she quipped, began the process of emptying the few remaining cakes and slices from the case. "Finnick's mom is like that too."

"At least she lives in Atlanta."

"And where does Peeta's mom live?"

"Somewhere in Northern Pennsylvania."

"You don't know where, exactly?"

Katniss opened her mouth, then closed it again. "No."

Annie shrugged, piled the leftovers on a plate, covered them with Saran wrap. Katniss knew they'd end up dropped off at Twill's - a single mom with four kids who lived next door to the Odairs - before the end of the day. "I think you guys finally admitting you're attracted to each other, and that you're moving on things is great...but after a month, maybe you should start learning a bit more about each other beyond the superficial. Maybe see if you can find out why _he's_ the way he is."

"Yeah, I suppose." Katniss lifted her hand to her mouth, absently chewed on her thumbnail. She knew Annie was right - _maybe?_ \- if she and Peeta were going to continue 'hanging out' together. Knew that now that she'd shared part of Prim's story, he'd eventually have to find out the rest, and that maybe she'd find out more about him beyond the little snippets about his family. Grabbing the discarded plates and cups that Annie had put down at the start of their conversation, Katniss straightened her shoulders resolutely. "Anyway, enough about this for now. We need to finish closing up so you can go back home to your boys."

"True," Annie agreed, rested a hand gently on Katniss' forearm before she moved away. "Just don't forget what I said, alright?"

"I won't."

* * *

Florence Cartwright had, as expected, outdone herself. Delly Cartwright and Thom Wilkins were officially having the most extravagant engagement party that Quarter Mile Bay had seen in over a decade. The Arena - exclusively hired, decorated with the Hollywood flair of one Effie Trinket, and practically vomiting fairy lights - was packed with the couples' families, their friends from Boston, and virtually every person from the Bay as well.

Peeta wasn't even sure why he'd been invited, but Florence had demanded he attend when she'd first handed over the creamy envelope a month earlier. At first he'd declined - _pretty forcefully, he'd thought_ \- but Florence had a stink-eye to rival any other. Combining that with Haymitch nagging him to not _'leave him alone at that hell of a party'_ and the promise of unlimited free alcohol, he'd eventually and very reluctantly agreed. But the sight of Katniss showing up in a figure-hugging forest green dress and slim heels was a bonus he hadn't anticipated.

For some reason, even to a party, he'd expected to see her in jeans.

He sipped at his beer from the corner of the room he'd situated himself in, watched the happy couple expertly work the room. They were polar opposites in size and stature - where Delly was all blonde hair, blue eyes, pale skin and lush curves, Thom was tall, with olive skin, dark hair and eyes so brown they were almost black. But they looked happy, and Delly kept looking up at Thom like he'd hung the moon. They looked almost sickeningly in love.

But then again, wasn't that always the way at engagement parties?

* * *

" _Mom, leave my tie alone!" Peeta swatted his mom's hand away from where she was trying to straighten his tie; in response, she planted her hands on her hips with a huff. He knew she'd been to the salon today - her blonde bob was smooth and perfect without a hair out of place, her makeup flawless, her pale pink dress probably costing more than his entire outfit combined. He'd never expect anything less from his mother - impressions always counted in her book._

" _Peeta, I just want everything to be perfect! Even this god-awful tie. Who picked it, anyway?"_

 _He sighed, caught his father's eye across the room and hoped he'd infused enough desperation in his own to get him to come and save him. "I know, Mom, and everything_ _is_ _perfect. Look, Cass is having a great time, and her parents are talking to Gram right now. No one is drunk - yet - and the food is terrific. It's perfect, okay? You have nothing to worry about."_

" _Peeta's right," His father boomed, stepping up and smiling broadly at his wife. "It's going fine, Deliah. And nice tie, kiddo, it looks as good as it did on the mannequin when I bought it for you."_

" _I should have known," Deliah rolled her eyes. "I just-"_

" _Peeta!" Cass popped up from almost nowhere, her blonde hair gleaming and her smile wide. The purple dress she wore clung to all the right curves, and Peeta couldn't help but think about peeling it off her at the first chance he got. She slid an arm around his waist, dug her fingers gently into his ribs. "I was just telling Lydia about that restaurant we went to last week, and I can't for the life of me remember its name. Do you mind coming over and telling her about it?"_

_There was amusement in her eyes, and a twinkle, and he definitely knew there was no Lydia on their guest list. Bless her for saving him. "Sure, babe." Peeta glanced over to his parents - Nolan, who was looking at them proudly, Deliah who looked like she was going to have a conniption any moment. "You guys mind if I go with Cass?"_

" _Of course not," Nolan said. "It's your engagement party after all!"_

_Peeta grinned, allowed Cass to whisk him away, and the moment they were out of earshot, they both began to laugh. "Oh, Peet, your mom looks so stressed!"_

" _I don't think she ever expected her baby to get married first," he replied, sliding his own arm around her waist. "Just imagine what she's going to be like at the wedding."_

_Cass widened her mouth in mock horror, crossed her eyes. "Oh no, don't tell me that. A Mother of the Groom-Zilla."_

" _It's likely," he agreed, bending slightly to place a kiss on her lips. "But thanks for saving me."_

" _Of course," she replied, and she gazed up at him almost dreamily. He loved seeing that look on her face, and he never wanted to take it for granted. "I just didn't want you bailed up by your mom all night - you need to schmooze, and get drunk, and later..." she trailed off, slid her hand lower so that she cupped it over the curve of his ass. "Maybe have a little of our own fun?"_

_He felt the blood in his head rush south, and tightened his hold around her. "I'll be looking forward to it all night," he promised, because he knew he would be. "In the meantime, though...how about a dance?"_

_Cass's eyebrows lifted so high they practically reached her hairline. "You want to dance?" She glanced around. "But no one else is dancing."_

_He grasped her hand, raised it to his chest and drew her in close. The music, thankfully, was something that lent itself to somewhat of a sway, and he took advantage of it, slowly beginning to move their bodies side to side. "It's our party, we can do what we want to."_

_She laughed. "I suppose you're right." She rested her head against his shoulder, allowed her body to line up against his. He felt her sigh softly, the puff of air gentle against his neck. "You know, I can't wait to marry you, Peeta Mellark."_

_He grinned. "That's good to hear, because I can't wait to marry you either, Cassandra Mere."_

* * *

"So how long do you think it'll take them before they're trying to sneak out of here?" Finnick's question broke Peeta out of the thoughts that had carried him back to his own engagement party, glanced at the pair who had suddenly appeared beside him. Even he had to admit they were a startlingly attractive couple - Finnick's bronze hair offset by Annie's dark brown waves, him as broad and muscular as Annie was petite. Both wore pale blue, and he wondered if it was intentional, or something that they'd just begun to do inadvertently the longer they were together.

He finished the last of his beer before answering, washed away the memories that lingered. "What do you mean?"

"Delly and Thom." Finnick smiled, wide and cheekily. "I give them maybe another hour, tops, before they're sneaking home to do it."

"Geez, Finn, could you be any more fifteen and inappropriate?" Annie rolled her eyes, but Peeta could see her trying to hold back a grin.

"Oh come on. I'm pretty sure _we_ did during our party."

"Not everyone is us."

"They should be."

"Well-"

"I think it's a fair call."

He watched as Finnick and Annie looked at him in surprise, and even Peeta was shocked that he'd spoken up. He placed his now empty glass on the high-top beside him, shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants. "Ah, I just mean that quite a few of the engagement parties I've been to have had the couple sneaking off."

"See!" Finnick laughed. "Even Peeta agrees with me."

He shrugged. "Of course I've been to others where a couple had a screaming match before the first hour was up, or where the bride was freaking out so much she ended up having to go home to go to bed, so I can't say I'm an expert on things."

"You're just a man full of surprises, Peeta Mellark."

"I'm a man who needs another drink, mostly."

"Oh my God, Annie, what the hell am I doing here?" Katniss suddenly pushed into their semi-circle, wine glass in hand, complaint and confusion evident in her voice.

"Uh, same as what we're all doing? Eating and drinking?"

"And on the Cartwrights tab, no less?" Finnick butted in.

Katniss rolled her eyes. "I've only ever met Delly maybe twice in my entire life, I still don't understand why I got invited! Plus I just spent the last five minutes being grilled by Maisy Donaldson, someone I've successfully avoided having a one on one conversation with this entire past year. I don't understand how Florence talked me into this."

Annie grinned, reached out for a small puff pastry on the high-top next to them. "Katniss, everyone gets invited to these things in QMB. You should be used to it by now."

"Yeah, but-"

"She's right," Peeta interrupted, rocked back on his heels, glad to see that he wasn't the only one uncomfortable with being there. "Sometimes it's not a matter of whether you know them or not. It's whether you know the mother. Why do you think I'm here?"

Annie laughed. "I see you grew up with a Florence in your hometown, too," she commented with a wink, and he shrugged.

"About a dozen," he replied. "Hence why I got out." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Katniss glance up at him curiously, questions in her grey eyes.

"Well, either way - ah crap. Excuse me, guys, Effie has Dylan, and good Lord, I think she's about to feed him caviar. Finnick, let's go save our boy!" Popping another pastry in her mouth, Annie tugged on Finnick's hand and shot off across the room to where Effie stood, talking a mile a minute to a less than enthusiastic looking Haymitch as she awkwardly bounced Dylan in her arms.

Peeta could still feel Katniss' eyes on him like an itch between the shoulder blades.

"What?" He asked bluntly, glancing at her. Without heels, their height difference was a couple of inches, tops. With Katniss in them, they were almost eye to eye.

"Why haven't you told me about your hometown?"

"You haven't asked."

"Then tell me about your hometown."

"How about no?"

"Why not?"

"Because it's boring?"

"What about your childhood?"

"It was pretty mundane."

She rolled her eyes. "Really? No crazy "I got drunk when I was 16 and toilet papered the math teachers house stories?"

He couldn't hold back the wry grin that forced its way onto his face. "Oh, there are plenty of those kind of stories. But childhood makes me think 'Mom', and you've already heard about her."

"Not much, really," she said casually, and he wondered what had prompted this. She'd never really asked questions before, had never really prodded answers out of him. "Other than that she nags."

"That's about all anyone needs to know about my mother," he rolled his eyes. "Anyway, I don't want to talk about her tonight, it reminds me too much of-" He stopped himself, suddenly aware that she'd caught him off guard enough that he'd been just about to say _my engagement party_. "Being a kid," he finished, hoping he'd managed to cover his pause sufficiently.

In reply, Katniss just sipped at her wine, then glanced to her side; he immediately saw her eyes widen.

"What is it?" he asked. She tipped her head slightly, and he shifted his gaze in time to see Delly and Thom moving away from a couple nearby, and heading in their direction. "Ah shit."

"Hi there!" Delly greeted as they stopped in front of them, her face wreathed with a bright, blinding smile. "Thanks so much for coming! This is Thom, my fiancé. Thom, this is Katniss - who works at the bakery with Annie and Finnick - and this is her date…" She trailed off, and her cheeks pinkened prettily. "I'm so sorry, I don't think I know your name," she admitted, her voice laced with horror. "Oh dear, this is mortifying."

"No, no, no, don't worry," Katniss babbled. "I think Florence has invited every single person from the Bay - you're bound not to know everyone."

"I think I know about a third of the people here, and it's my own party," Thom joked, stuck out a hand that Peeta felt obliged to take. "But regardless, I'm Thom."

"Peeta," he replied automatically.

Delly's mouth widened in a perfect O. "You're Peeta Mellark? The guy who bought the old Snow mansion?"

Peeta grit his teeth and felt the muscle in his cheek twitch, tugged his hand back so he could return it to his pocket. "Yeah, that's me."

"Oh, it looks wonderful!" She cried, her hands clapping together. "I see it every time I drive down the cliffs, and am just so _impressed_ with what you've done with it, it looks amazing. But I'm sorry I introduced you as Katniss' date, I just assumed-"

"We kind of are," Peeta interrupted bluntly, and watched as Katniss' mouth dropped open. _Oh shit._ _Where the hell had that come from?_

"Well, that's terrific to hear," Delly grinned. "We _are_ so glad you could make it though, even if this was our first meeting. We should catch up the next time we're in town." She glanced up at Thom, wrapped her arms around his waist. "But we should move on, sweetie, catch Sae before she goes home." She might have said more, but Peeta wasn't sure. He was too busy trying to pretend not to notice Katniss' stare, trying not to think about what he'd just said.

"You just told them I was your date," Katniss murmured the moment they were alone.

Peeta shrugged, figured _what the hell_. "I'm fairly certain every person from the Bay knows I spend half my nights at your house."

"But-"

"But what?"

Katniss pushed her hair back - free from its braid, it tumbled down over her shoulders in natural waves - and slugged back the last of her wine. "I don't know. I was just surprised, is all."

He was still looking at the way her hair curved around her cheek.

"Well don't be," he said shortly. He lowered his gaze, took in the subtle v neckline of her dress, the way the slim sleeves hugged her wrists, the way the fabric of the skirt swayed about her thighs and ended just above her knees. Yeah, he was about done with tonight. "You also shouldn't be surprised by the fact that you've been driving me insane in that dress all night."

Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away, crossing her arms self-consciously across her chest. "Shut up."

"It's true."

"I told you to shut up."

He liked to antagonise her, he'd realised over the last few months. Even when he wasn't doing it intentionally, he'd always liked the response she'd had to him - now, it was even better when he kind of knew how she'd react to certain things. He'd learnt a few things during their time working at the bakery together. He'd learnt even more over the last six weeks.

"We should go."

She blinked. "Go where?"

"Away from here. We've spoken to the happy couple - I think we've done our duty. And I just want to go somewhere and be alone with you."

Her eyes darkened, the grey almost shimmering to black. She nibbled on her thumbnail, glanced around the room. "You want to go now?"

"I want to go now," he confirmed.

* * *

They ended up at his place, the drive back filled with a tension both knew only one thing would break. They barely made it in the front door before his mouth was claiming hers, hands sliding beneath the fabric of her dress, cupping her breasts and teasing the pebbled peaks until they stiffened under his touch. She moved sinuously against him, hands gripping at his waist, pulling him closer until their hips were flush and every voluntary or involuntary thrust of his body against hers drove groans from both of them.

They stumbled down the hallway, and even in the dark he knew every pathway, every room, better than he knew the back of his hand. He moved her backwards into his living room, towards the sofa without bumping into a single thing, even as he leant down to tug at the hem of her dress, peeling it up her body and tossing it over his shoulder.

_Shit, she looked even better out of the dress than she did in it._

Katniss tugged frantically at his belt buckle, threw it aside, tore at his shirt until she was pressing her mouth against the warm skin of his chest and he was sliding his hand underneath the soft cotton of her underwear, pressing his fingers against her flesh and causing her hips to buck eagerly. She was making quick work at the waistband of his pants, and then her hand was slipping inside, her hand sliding up and down him in a quick and steady rhythm, her breaths panting, faint mewls falling from her lips. Her eyes shone in the darkness.

Then it was all an impatient flurry of trying to get naked, to get close, for him to be inside her.

With limbs tangled and hearts thundering in both their chests, they fell onto his sofa, and she rode them both to completion.

* * *

It was the sun hitting her on the face the next morning that woke her, the thin streams of light tearing her from sleep. Katniss flung an arm across her eyes, felt the pop in her shoulder at the movement, and the brush of soft fabric against her elbow.

 _Sofa_ , she reminded herself, trying to remember where she'd fallen asleep. _You're on the sofa because you and Peeta acted like horny teenagers the moment you got home from the party_. _And proceeded to act that way for the better part of the rest of the night._

She stretched slightly, moved her arm so she could open her eyes and look around the room. It was, like every other part of his house, perfect. Masculine and strong, but not overpoweringly so. He used a lot of creams and dark browns, clean and simple lines that still managed to look like it came right out of a magazine. It was a room that, somehow, looked exactly like Peeta.

But Peeta himself was nowhere to be seen.

Dragging herself to her feet and slipping on her underwear, followed by his discarded dress shirt, she padded towards the open doorway, heard his voice coming from towards the back of the house. She followed the sound out to the sunroom, where she stopped in the entryway and watched him. He was facing away from her, and was wearing nothing but the underwear he'd had on the night before, his back lean and rippling gently with each movement he made. His right hand gripped onto his left bicep as he held his iPhone with his free hand.

"Look, I just need a few more days to decide. I _know_ the client wants to kick off the project soon, I realise that, I just need - _no._ I can't give you a decision now."

She could hear the frustration in his voice, see it in his body language as he lifted his hand and ran it through his hair, gripping the blond strands in his fist. She leant against the door frame, careful to keep silent. She didn't want to interrupt him, but she was...intrigued. Was this still about that job he'd been offered in New York?

The morning sun continued to stream through the windows, bathed him in a glow that would have looked like a halo on anyone else. "Cinna, I know you need an answer. I just...It's hard, you know?" A pause, while Peeta listened to what his boss had to say on the other end of the line. "Yeah, things are good. They're getting better. I'm beginning to... _feel_ more like me. But New York means Cass. She's always going to be there, you know that."

Katniss' brow furrowed in confusion, and she took a step back, suddenly not as interested in hearing any more. She turned on her heel, quickly and quietly padding her way back to the living room, her mind whirling. Why did New York remind Peeta of someone? Why was he still thinking about her? And most importantly - who exactly was Cass?

Her Sunday morning wasn't beginning as exactly as she'd thought it would.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, for your kudos and comments. Sorry on the extended wait on this - RL has been kicking my butt.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr under sponsormusings. I love to chat with other fans of THG!


	17. Chapter 17

Katniss' toes curled into the thick, plush rug beneath her feet, her eyes tracing the simple pale green line that seemed to dance across it with no rhyme or reason. She studied it as if the rug was the most important thing she'd ever looked at, her mind whirling with confusion.

From the sound of things, Peeta _still_ hadn't taken up the offer of working on that project.

For someone who had never had very much of a career direction - who'd given up on college the minute the rest of her family had been taken away, the mishmash of courses and no declared major making it an easy decision - the fact that someone who _did_ have a flourishing career but wouldn't take an opportunity completely baffled her. What made it worse and even less understandable was that Peeta clearly loved his work. The times she'd managed to get him to talk about it - the enthusiasm in his eyes and his voice as he spoke about a particular building or design or style - told her that. It was obvious.

And here he was, turning down an opportunity to work in one of the most famous cities in the world.

She didn't get it.

Growing up, most everyone she'd known had had a goal, a career in mind. Madge's had been running and owning her own party planning business, building it up in incredible speed until she was hosting _the_ parties for _the_ people in every corner of the globe. She also knew through Madge that most of their graduating class were already - or at least well on their way to - working in the fields they'd always wanted. A pro basketballer, a freelance writer, a PR consultant, a lawyer, a kindergarten teacher. The list seemed utterly endless and full of success stories.

Her father had always wanted to be an engineer, her mother a nurse, and they'd both done it, being promoted in their fields until their progression had been stopped by circumstances beyond anyone's control. She knew without a doubt that Prim would have made a wonderful doctor - her patience and comforting nature had been evident from a young age, and it had seemed natural that a career in something like pediatrics would have been perfect for her sister.

It wasn't just her family, though, or those from her hometown. From what Annie had told her over a late night glass of wine or early morning coffee, the bakery had been her and Finnick's dream from the moment they'd gotten together. Effie LOVED her job, and despite his grumblings, Katniss knew Haymitch looked back on his time as a judge fondly. Hell, when she'd been dating Gale, even _he'd_ been on track to achieve his career goals. But as for Peeta - shouldn't working on a project back in New York City, where you were actively being _chased_ to work on it, be a career goal, a dream? And if it was a dream that could be realised - shouldn't you take it?

She knew Peeta didn't like New York, he'd said it bluntly enough in the bakery the day he'd told her about the offer. To her, though, it didn't feel like that was a good enough reason to say no, to not consider it. It just seemed like an excuse more than anything else.

But with a soft sigh, she rubbed a hand over her face and knew she was kidding herself. Because it really wasn't the project offer that was bothering her. It was just a deflection, a way to keep her mind focused away from the other question that kept wanting to rear its head and confuse her even more.

_Who the hell was Cass?_

The sound of Peeta's feet padding down the hallway made her look up, and he stepped into the room, still shirtless, but having slipped on a pair of sweatpants that now rode low on his hips.

Sometimes, she was so attracted to him, it hurt a little on the inside. He made her heart thud funny. He made her throat feel like it was hard to swallow.

But she realised she still didn't really know him. And he didn't really know her.

Peeta placed the phone on the coffee table in the centre of the room, his blue eyes taking her in. They weren't tired and confused like she knew hers would be - his were already alert and bright, and completely aware of his surroundings.

"Sorry, I didn't realise you were already awake," he apologised, shoved his hands in the pockets of his pants. "Do you want some tea or something?"

 _Answers, mostly_. "Tea...would be nice."

He nodded absently, walked back out towards the kitchen; hopping to her feet, Katniss followed him down the hall. Outside, the early morning was sharp and almost startling in its crispness, the sun glanced brightly off the window panes as it continued to rise. He moved around the space with the familiar and practiced ease of someone who lived there, was comfortable there, and Katniss awkwardly slid onto one of the wooden stools that lined up under the counter.

"That was an early phone call." She tried to keep her voice light, casual, free of the accusations and questions that threatened to spill forth.

Katniss saw the moment his shoulders tensed, as he visibly willed them back to relax. He flicked the switch on the old fashioned electric tea kettle he had. "Yeah. It was."

"Was it Cinna about that project he wants you to take on?" This time, the question tumbled from her lips before she had the chance to stop it, and he turned to her abruptly, his eyes narrowed.

"Were you _listening_ to my conversation?"

Katniss' back stiffened indignantly, and she wished she was wearing something more substantial than just underwear and his button up. Her feet twisted around the legs of the stool, keeping her in place. "When I woke up, I could hear you talking - I went to find you, saw you on the phone. I walked out, but you said the name Cinna before I did. It wasn't hard to figure out what you were talking about. Mostly."

This time, his face paled, almost to the point where it looked like he was going to be sick. "Mostly."

She nodded. "Yeah. Mostly." She folded her arms across her chest, jutted her chin obstinately, hoping it would make her feel more in control. She hadn't been prepared for a fight this morning, but maybe she was going to get one anyway. "Why won't you take that job? It seems like it would be a good opportunity. Hating New York doesn't seem to be a big enough reason to say no, especially if it's not long term."

"It's not any of your business." Peeta said it quickly, sharply, as though he'd said those words a million times before. He probably had.

"I'm sitting here in your shirt, after being with you all night. Why _isn't_ it my business?"

"Because it's _my_ life, not yours. The decisions I make about what projects I work on and what I don't have nothing to do with you." The tension in his voice, and in the way his hands suddenly gripped the countertop, was palpable.

The mood between them had swung 180° degrees from the night before, and it made her head spin, made her heart feel like it was going to beat so hard out of her chest, it would fall with a thud onto the counter. "But Cinna's your boss, and obviously wants you to work on it, has wanted you to work on it for, what, six months now? How much leeway do you actually get that _you_ get to tell your boss what you will or won't do?"

"Cinna understands," he replied firmly.

"As much as anyone understands things, one day they're going to have enough of it." She knew that from experience, shamefully from her own reactions to her mother's inability to recover for so long from her father's death. Even if she hadn't wanted to feel that way, she still had.

"Cinna understands," Peeta repeated, jaw set like stone.

She huffed in frustration, threw her arms up either side of her. "Fine then. If you don't want to talk about that, do you want to tell me who Cass is instead?"

If she'd detonated a bomb, it would have been less explosive.

His face went white, then red, and she swore it turned a shade of purple while his eyes flared.

"You have no right to ask about her." The words were blunt, icy, and cut right through her like a knife.

The response stung, but it did nothing but fuel her frustration even more. "Screw you, Peeta. You want to keep little pockets - or _big_ pockets - of your life from me, that's fine. I've done the same. But don't you dare stand there and glare at me like I'm a stranger with no right to ask you questions."

"Some parts of my life are better kept from you!" This time his voice was raised, his words pierced by the shrill shrieking of the kettle.

"I think that's bullshit," she threw at him.

"And I thought this was no strings," Peeta snapped, flicking off the kettle with a slap of his hand.

"And last night I thought we were on a 'date'," she bit back, air-quoting the word, and watched the chagrin flit across his face. "You can't have it both ways, Peeta. You can't tell me we're basically dating, tell me that almost everyone in QMB knows it, and then the next day refuse to answer a few little questions."

He strode across the kitchen until he was directly on the other side of the counter from her, his hands braced on the smooth, polished surface. Even then, it felt like he was miles away from her. "They're. Not. Little. Questions." Each word was said individually through clenched teeth, as if a full stop separated each one.

"What makes them so big? A job and, what, a girl? Big deal." Right now, she didn't care if her words belittled him, and whatever had gone on with this person she knew nothing about. His actions towards her did nothing but make her feel like he deserved the hurt, deserved to feel what she was feeling.

"Cass _is_ a big deal." His voice vibrated with pent up emotion - good or bad, she didn't know.

Katniss stared at him for a moment, then shook her head and rose to her feet. _How, less than 8 hours earlier, could she have been staring into his eyes as he moved inside her, thinking about how good it felt, only to now feel smaller than an ant he didn't give a shit about_? "You know what, forget this. I don't have to put up with this."

He blinked, his head jerking back. "What?"

"I don't have to put up with this. Sometimes...sometimes I see this side to you, one you try to keep hidden, where I can't help but think how sweet and honest and what a good man you are. But most times, it's hidden by this. Asshole, standoffish, rude Peeta. As though you just woke up one day, and became someone else, someone different. And right now, all I'm seeing is that Peeta, and I don't think I can unsee him anymore. So that's it."

"You're just going to go?" She ignored the panic that crept into his voice, turned her back on him.

"Don't worry. I'll leave your shirt on the sofa before I go. I'm sure it's not my business to be wearing it in the first place."

She walked out of the room with her head held high, even though it felt like all of her was crumbling.

* * *

 

The slam of the door echoed through the house, but he was as still as a statue, unmoving, in the middle of the kitchen.

_What the hell had just happened?_

The call from Cinna had been an early one, but that was nothing new. Peeta had gotten used to his boss' schedule years ago, and growing up in a bakery, the early calls or meetings rarely bothered him. He hadn't even considered that Katniss would come looking for him. Hadn't considered she might hear him talk about Cass.

But she had. And he'd lashed out in the best way he knew how.

He was such a fucking idiot.

She'd asked him simply, but the idea that she'd heard any of that conversation - anything to do with Cass - had freaked him out. He'd realised the night before as they'd sprawled exhausted on his sofa, that the time was coming where he'd have to share, when he'd have to let his past and present coexist if he wanted something to happen with Katniss - because dammit, he did. Even though he'd been the one to stipulate no strings, even though he didn't want to get close to anyone again, she'd burrowed in and burrowed in deep. It had all but hit him over the head, when he'd unceremoniously announced they were on a date, and, upon reflection in the dead of night, found that he'd meant it. But because he hadn't been prepared, and instincts had kicked in, he'd turned on her about the project, and then about Cass. And he'd seen the moment her eyes had shut down, and she'd shut him out.

For so many years, words had always been his thing, and today they'd failed him. He'd failed. Miserably.

Sliding to the floor, his back resting against the cabinets, he wondered if it was his aim in life to continually screw things up until there was nothing else for him to ruin.

Because in the end, he knew how important answers were. And how much it burned never to get them.

* * *

 

_The line of numbers were blurry on the scrap of paper, and he blinked his eyes, rubbed them until the string of symbols became clear enough to read. Pressing the buttons on his phone was a bit more difficult, and he focused intently on them, until he finally heard the ring tone through the ear piece._

_Success!_

_The answer was abrupt, the answering voice sleepy but alert. "Yes?"_

_Peeta took another slug from the bottle, swallowed before speaking. "Who th-the hell do you think you are?"_

_"I'm sorry? Who is this? Do you know what time it is? This had better be a damned emergency."_

_Peeta's eyes glazed over, glanced at the bottle that sat 3/4 empty in front of him. Yup. Definitely an emergency. "Who do you think it is, asshole?"_

_The voice inhaled sharply. "Peeta?"_

_"Bingo! 5 points to you. Of course, you already get a million for banging my wife, so it doesn't add much, does it?"_

_A rustling of sheets, and a loud creak echoed down the phone."Peeta, are you drunk?"_

_"Course."_

_"Where are you calling me from? I know you're not in New York anymore."_

_Peeta squinted at the hotel stationery on the bedside table, but it didn't help. The words were just a messy blur. "I dunno. Don't give a shit where I am. Just give a shit about calling you and telling you what I think of you."_

_The voice on the other end became placating - what the other partners and associates had always called his 'lawyer voice'. "Wherever you are, you need to stop drinking and stop making wild accusations."_

_Peeta snorted. "Wild accusations? I found her box before I left, asshole. Her box full of you, and her. I know." The last word was hissed. "How long did it go on for? How long did you fuck my wife behind my back, Adrian? Did you love her? Did she love you?"_

_Another sharp inhale. "I'm not going to answer any of your questions, Peeta. You're drunk, and clearly delusional."_

_"Don't treat me like I'm stupid and young and oblivious!" He yelled it, and the hotel neighbor on the other side of the wall banged, yelled at him to shut the hell up._

_"I've never treated you that way."_

_"You did." His voice lowered, and he could hear the bitterness in his tone. "I know you all looked down on me because I was younger than Cass, that you didn't think I was worthy of her."_

_"Peeta you need to hang up." Another rustle, and a quiet thud. "I have court in the morning, and I don't appreciate malicious phone calls at 3am."_

_Peeta scoffed, and an angry laugh escaped. "You're not going to tell me anything, are you? I just want answers. I need answers!"_

_"I have nothing to tell you."_

_He wondered why, half an hour earlier, calling Adrian Gloss had seemed like such a good idea. Wondered why overhearing a guy in a bar talking happily about his new fiancée had gotten to him so much that he'd stopped by a liquor store, then broken his self imposed rule of never contacting the man who had had an affair with his wife. This was such a bad idea._

_"Why can't...Why can't you just be honest with me? Cass can't give me the answers, you're the only one who can."_

_This time, the sigh was long, heavy, and if Peeta had been sober, he would have heard the grief in the other man's voice. But he was oblivious, and it probably wouldn't have mattered to him anyway. "No I can't. I have nothing to tell you."_

_"Why not?"_

_"Because it hurts me too."_

_Finally, an admission. "So you admit it."_

_"I'm not saying anything more."_

_Peeta thumped his fist into the pillow beside him."She was my wife. I deserve to know."_

_Adrian's tone turned icy."I know she was your wife, I was reminded of it every time I looked at her hand in public." He paused, and when he spoke again, it was emotionless. "But regardless of that, I loved her, and she loved me."_

_"But..." Peeta's voice dropped to a whisper. "Why? How long?"_

_"It doesn't matter."_

_"But didn't she love me too?"_

_A pause. "I guess so, at one time or another. Probably when you got married. But we didn't talk about you. You weren't important to us."_

_'Us'._

_'Not important'._

_'At one time'._

_Nothing could have prepared Peeta for any of that._

_He hung up without another word. He never called again._

* * *

 

Katniss had never considered doing something like this before, had always thought it was weird that people would even think of it. She'd never done it with Gale, and her sense of curiosity hadn't been strong enough to make her think of this as an option, for anyone in her life. Ever.

But this was different.

She'd walked home, legs freezing in the early morning air, bundled in her jacket that still smelled like his cologne and her perfume from the night before, blinking back tears that threatened to fall and that she refused to acknowledge. Her mind had raced at how quickly things had changed, how quickly their conversation before she'd stormed out had spiralled into a mess neither could have stepped back from, even if they'd wanted to.

Teeth chattering when she'd finally arrived home, she'd stripped off - promising to burn the green dress she'd spent far too much money on online, Peeta in mind when she'd bought it - and had run a bath, soaked in the chamomile scented waters. She'd run the conversation over and over in her head until she knew there was only one thing for certain that she could do.

But now, as she stared at the Google homepage, the cursor blinking in the blank search box, Katniss felt intrusive. He obviously had reasons for keeping so much of his life a secret - maybe much like she had for holding back so long about Prim, why she'd yet told him she was an orphan. But she knew that if he'd asked her, she would have answered. That had been a big enough realisation in and of itself on her walk home - that she would be willing to tell him all of it.

 _Had been_ willing to tell him.

But it was clear that he wouldn't, so she'd have find out her own way. And if she did, at least then she might have an idea what had led to the end of whatever had been budding between them. She knew it was a long shot - it might not yield any results at all - but she had to at least try.

She wasn't being intrusive. She just needed to know.

She took a deep breath.

_Cass, Peeta Mellark._

_Enter._

There were a lot of images and results, mostly Peeta centric, and heavily related to his work. About a third of the way down, though, she saw a link to a news article about a Cass Mere. And in the second sentence, highlighted in bold, was the word Mellark. Beside Peeta. Which was beside the word _husband_.

Her blood pounding in her veins, she quickly changed her search to Cass Mere, and the results increased significantly. As did the images. And in what Katniss figured was significantly masochistic, she clicked on the image that showed this Cass - or Cassandra - Mere in a stylish, formfitting white dress on the arm of a man in a stone grey suit.

Magnified, it was obvious it was Peeta. Younger, and with a face that was bright and happy and free of the weight that seemed permanently etched there now. But it was clearly him.

Peeta had been married.

Her hand trembling slightly, she clicked back to the results page, selected the first result, a newspaper notice.

A death notice. Dated 6 months after her Mom and Prim had died.

 _Oh god_.

The article was brief, nothing more than a simple statement that she'd been killed in a car accident in New York City.

_New York City._

It noted when her funeral was, that she was survived by her parents, two sisters and husband Peeta.

_Husband, Peeta._

Sitting back in her seat, Katniss' hands fell limply into her lap, and some of the pieces fell into place. Peeta was a widower, and he was obviously trying to protect himself from being hurt again. She'd died in New York, the place he didn't want to return to. Katniss understood that, knew she'd run off to Panem after she'd lost her mom and Prim, with the intention to never return to her hometown. But she knew from experience that time helped to heal wounds. Unfortunately from the looks of things, time had done nothing for him.

Clicking back to some of the other articles, they fed her little snippets of information, about Cass and Peeta individually and only occasionally as a couple, until she stumbled across an interview with him and Malachi Cinna, dated three months before Cass' death, about an old Brownstone renovation they'd worked on. Watching the short video, she was almost mesmerised by his charisma, his way with words, and the way the camera clearly loved him. Peeta's responses were affable, charming, honest, friendly - exactly the traits of the man she kept seeing snippets of, only to be snatched away just as quickly.

And she knew that Cass' death was the reason the Peeta she knew was the way he was today.

* * *

 

"He was married."

Haymitch barely had the door open before Katniss blurted the words out, and she saw him visibly start.

"What?"

"Peeta. He was married. And she died."

At first, she hadn't known what to do with the information she'd learned. She'd thought of going to tell Annie, but she hadn't wanted to bother the new parents on one of their few mornings off. Madge, currently in Morocco, was out of the question.

So she'd ended up here. She wasn't entirely sure why, but Haymitch Abernathy seemed as good a person to blurt this out to as any.

Haymitch ran a hand through his hair, sighed, and opened the door wider. "You'd better come in."

"You knew." She blinked in shock, though she shouldn't have been surprised. She knew the two men had a friendship - the only one in QMB she knew that Peeta really had - and Haymitch had known about the project offer. _Of course, why wouldn't he know about his wife_? Annoyance coursed through her. "I can't believe he told you, but refuses to tell me."

This time Haymitch's shoulders tensed, even as he stepped back to let her pass. "He didn't tell you?"

"No. I had to Google it."

"You-" he choked back a laugh. "You Googled it."

"He wouldn't tell me," she bit out, tugging off her jacket and boots before stomping through to his living room. "So I Googled her name."

Pausing at the entrance to the living room - the very one he'd hung mistletoe from just a few short months ago - he folded his arms across his chest. "How do you know her name?"

"Does it matter?"

"Just tell me."

With a roll of her eyes, Katniss dropped onto the sofa, and relayed - with as little emotion as possible - that mornings conversation, and her ensuing internet search.

Having settled into his armchair across from her, Haymitch was silent until she'd finished, only letting out an almost imperceptible _shit_ at the end.

"But obviously you knew most of that," Katniss said bluntly. Haymitch had definitely been the right person to go to - her anger at being pushed away by Peeta finally had an outlet. "You've known all along, and thought it was okay not to tell me, even when it became obvious things had changed between Peeta and I."

"It wasn't my story to tell," he argued. "And anyway, I knew what happened before I ever met Peeta. I doubt he would have told me otherwise."

"You already knew? How convenient."

He pointed a finger at her. "Don't get smart with me, young lady, because yeah, I _did_ know. Remember, I was a Judge down in NYC before I retired. Cassandra Mere was a lawyer. It wasn't hard to hear the gossip - dirty or otherwise - in those legal circles. _Especially_ when it was dirty."

Katniss' eyebrows drew together in confusion. _Dirty_ gossip? "But she just died. Why was that dirty?"

She saw the moment Haymitch realised he'd said too much.

"What don't I know?" She demanded, pulling herself forward in her seat. "There's obviously more to it than that, more than what the internet can tell me, and you know what it is."

Haymitch ran a hand across his face. "I already told you, it's not my story to tell. If anyone is gonna tell you, it needs to be the boy."

"And it seems pretty damn obvious that he won't," she snapped, hauled herself to her feet. "I was hoping you'd be on my side here."

"I'm not on anyone's side," he clarified. "I'm not getting in the middle of this. I like both of you, think you could be good for each other. But you need to sort this out without me."

"You were willing to get involved when you put that damned mistletoe up," Katniss challenged, and he sighed.

"And yeah, I figured the boy had some better sense in him by now, but I guess I was wrong."

With a hiss, Katniss stormed through to the hallway, threw on her shoes and boots. She couldn't believe it - she just wanted some damn answers, and no one would give them to her."You know, maybe next time, just don't get involved!"

His voice echoed down the hall behind her. "Don't you worry, sweetheart. I won't."

For the second time that day, she slammed a front door.

* * *

 

_Because you didn't, the internet told her about Cass. Maybe u need to tell her the rest yourself. And I can't believe I'm texting this, but you won't answer your damned phone. H._

* * *

He stared at the message, reread it for what felt like the twentieth time.

_Katniss knew._

What she knew, exactly, was something he wasn't sure about. An internet search wouldn't have told her about Adrian, or about the affair. But he knew it would have told her about Cass' marriage. His marriage.

 _Their_ marriage.

Peeta shoved his iPhone in his pocket, stared out through the window and down at the sea below, as the waves pounded relentlessly against the rocks. It could almost be symbolic for himself and Katniss, Peeta mused. She'd slowly but steadily worn away at him until the sharp and bitter edges had smoothed away, so that parts of the old Peeta had begun to emerge. Parts he missed, parts he almost didn't recognise, but felt so familiar. Until today, of course, when it became obvious that no matter how strong the waves were, sometimes there were stubborn parts - ones that refused to erode with time - that were still there, lurking under the surface. Just waiting to reappear.

But he didn't want to be that person anymore. And not even for Katniss, or Cinna, or his dad, or anyone else. But for himself.

Thinking once more about the text message on his phone, and knowing he only had one option, he grabbed his keys, yanked a sweater over his head and headed out the door.

* * *

 

It took him ten minutes to get up the courage to pull himself from the car; it felt like another 5 passed as he made his way up the pathway to her front door.

His fisted hand hesitated as he lifted it to knock on the wood, his feet shifted nervously on the timber slats beneath him. And it took 3 separate knocks and another 5 minutes before she opened the door.

He was _definitely_ an idiot.

Katniss stood there in a pair of soft, simple jeans, and a red long sleeved shirt faded from years of washing and wear. Her almost trademark braid slid over her shoulder like a twisted black rope, and her eyes were like molten fire.

She was magnificent.

If it was over before it had even begun, he had no one to blame but himself, and he would regret it every damn day.

"I'm sorry," he blurted, the words feeling foreign on his lips. "About this morning."

"Okay."

He had to admire how she'd managed to infuse the biggest _screw you_ into one simple word.

"And..." _Shit, how was he going to say this? Just blurt it, blurt it out._ "I'm sorry for not telling you about Cass."

She shrugged, leant against the doorframe. "You made it perfectly clear it was none of my business. It has nothing to do with me who she is."

"That's where you're wrong." He shook his head emphatically, shoved his hands in his pockets. "I realised it is your business. And I know...I know you already know who she is. Haymitch told me."

"Oh, of course he did." Katniss laughed mirthlessly, folded her arms across her chest like a shield. "He gets to pick and choose what he tells to people."

"Don't be mad at him when it's me you're mad at," Peeta told her. "He's just trying to do the right thing."

"Whatever." Her mouth pressed together in a firm line, her shoulders rigid with tension. "Is that all? You done?"

 _He could do this. He had no choice; he'd go down swinging if he got the chance._ "No. No, I want to tell you what you asked about this morning. I need to tell you. Can I come in?"

She inhaled deeply, and he watched as the indecision clearly warred on her face - whether to let him in, or slam the door in his face.

He wouldn't have blamed her one bit for the latter.

Finally she nodded, almost imperceptibly, and the relief that coursed through him felt like the most amazing thing in the world.

Peeta slipped past her quickly - before she could change her mind - and toed his shoes off, moving into the living room while she closed the door. He didn't sit on the sofa as he'd done so many other times before - watching TV, eating dinner, as they satisfied each other physically until they were satiated and spent.

No, today he took the armchair beside the fireplace, watched as she lowered to the sofa, her posture rigid with awkwardness and unhappiness.

He leant forward slightly, rested his elbows on his knees and took a deep breath.

"I need to start at the start. On the day I met Cassandra Mere. Cass Mere. My wife."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, for your kudos, comments and reviews. Every single one means a lot, and I appreciate them all.
> 
> You can find me on tumblr - I'm there under sponsormusings as well - where I love to chat about all things THG :)


	18. Chapter 18

_Alright. I'm fairly certain that if you were here right now, this would be the moment where you'd be pushing cups of tea on me, and telling me that he's just an idiot and he's the one missing out. You'd be telling me not to cry, and I'd be telling you that tears over a boy were stupid and that I wasn't even going to cry anyway. You'd stroke my hair, and give me that knowing look that somehow you perfected the minute you became a freshman._

_We never really got to have one of those moments, did we? I rarely dated in school, and I'm still blindly pretending that you hadn't really discovered boys yet. But I'd like to think that if we'd had one of those moments, that's what would have happened - even if I'd have been adamant that I didn't want it. Sympathy isn't something I've ever done very well with, but I think I would have made one of my few exceptions for you._

_I know you would have been on my side if a guy had broken my heart. And that's exactly what's happened, even if I didn't realise until today that that's what was on the line. Stupid me walked into it willingly, like an idiot. Because attraction is one thing, Prim, but getting involved any more than that? I didn't mean for that to happen. And now, to find out that he kept all of these things from me and I'm not even supposed to be_ _ curious _ _, is infuriating._

_I know I kept a fair bit about myself a secret too, but I'd opened that door. I'd told him about you, was prepared to tell him the rest. But not knowing - and being told I have no_ _ right _ _to know - about a wife is hugely different._

_It's times like this that I really miss you. I know...I know I hold on to you this way, that I feel like I'm keeping you alive by writing to you like this. But it's helped me. And I wish Peeta had had something to help him. Not for my sake, but for his. He needs to try and be more like the man he used to be, because I know without a doubt that's the 'real' him._

_He-_

It was a loud bang that snapped her out of the email she was composing to Prim, an echo that reverberated down the hallway with its intensity. Katniss' head lifted abruptly at what she realised was the loud rapping of knuckles on her front door; she leant back in her seat with a sigh as she looked at the clock on the wall. She wasn't expecting anyone, though she did vaguely remember asking Sae to take some of the engagement party cake home for her, and to drop it off today.

And as her stomach growled at the thought, she realised she _really_ wanted some of the cake Annie had made for the occasion. _Thank God for the ever reliable Sae._

She rose to her feet, her footsteps quiet on the bare floors as she made her way towards the front door, already anticipating the sweet and tart combination of coconut and lime. Then paused as the banging on the door echoed again, this time louder and more impatient. And something told her that it wasn't Sae standing on her front porch.

Katniss felt her heart start to speed up as she took a quick detour into the front room, flicked at the curtain to see who was standing there.

_Peeta_.

" _Shit_ ," she hissed, jumping back. She hadn't expected to see him, figured that she wouldn't have to face him again after their fight that morning. She wasn't exactly in the mood to speak with him right now - annoyance and frustration and anger surged within her once more, and she didn't understand why he'd bothered to show his face. Hadn't they already said all they wanted to say? Everything they'd _needed_ to say?

She stopped and waited, to see if he would leave if she just simply didn't answer. But when he knocked again, even more firmly and with a hint of desperation, it was clear he wasn't going away.

Katniss chewed on her lower lip before she hurried back down the hall to her study, re-reading the words on her laptop that she'd been part way through writing before adding to them.

_He's here. I want to ignore him, or better yet, answer the door and calmly tell him to fuck off (sorry, cover your ears). But...he looks terrible. And I also know that if you were here, while you might be 100% on my side, you'd also tell me that maybe I need to listen to what he has to say, to find out why he's here._

_So I guess I will._

* * *

 

"I need to start at the start. On the day I met Cassandra Mere. Cass Mere. My wife."

Katniss took a deep breath, her hands clenched tightly on her lap. She wasn't entirely sure, now that he was here and ready to tell her, that she actually _did_ want to know. Did she really want to hear about this woman he'd loved so much, that he'd turned into someone else because he'd lost her?

It was too late not to now.

"So, uh, Cass was a couple of years older than me - she was a lawyer, an up and comer in her firm. She was blond, curvy, smart as a whip, like an absolute fiend in the courtroom. The day we met, I was in her office because Cinna and Associates had been contracted to redesign their communal areas and a few office spaces. I was in her office, trying to get a feel for it for our interior designer, Cressida, and was looking at this God awful watercolour that was on the wall. She came in, and we hit it off straight away - we had a connection, started dating, and it didn't take me long before I decided I wanted to propose." Peeta shifted in his seat, his gaze dropping to the floor. When he spoke again, his voice cracked slightly. "We were together six months, and she said yes when I asked. Within a year, we were married."

Katniss felt some of the anger she was holding onto start to subside. She could already see how uncomfortable he was, and he'd barely even started. "You don't have to tell me this," she murmured.

He shook his head. "No, I do, I know I do. You should know. I owe you that, at least." His hands rubbed over his knees, and she could tell he was trying to formulate what to say next. "I...things were really good. We took weekend trips to Philly or DC, or if we stayed in the City, I'd bake for her and we'd eat in bed or take it into the park and enjoy the sunshine. We became obsessed with _Lost_ together, even when it began to frustrate the shit out of us. I took her to as many art exhibitions as she could handle, while she introduced me to bands I'd never even heard of. We both loved our jobs, and while we'd agreed that we'd wait awhile for kids, it had finally come to the stage where I thought it was just around the corner for us."

"Sounds like you guys had it all." Even while part of her heart was breaking for him at what he'd obviously lost, another part of her was filled with jealousy. She'd never had anything like that; though to be fair, she'd never really thought she'd _wanted_ something like that.

Maybe she did.

Peeta reached up and pinched at the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, something like that," he muttered, before dropping his hand back to his lap. "We'd planned to go to the Hamptons for the Fourth long weekend with some of her work colleagues. But we never made it. She...she was hit by a car in New York. Broken ribs punctured her lung, among other internal injuries. She died on the spot."

Katniss swallowed heavily, because while reading it on the internet was one thing, hearing Peeta say it aloud - talking about his own wife, and the way she'd died - was another entirely. "I'm sorry," she said quietly. "It's hard to lose someone you love."

Peeta finally looked up at her then, recognition in his eyes. "Yeah. Yeah it is. You would know that too. But it's even harder to watch it happen in front of you."

She blinked, even as her stomach dropped. "I…" Katniss trailed off, not sure what to say, other than to apologise, again. But she knew from experience that someone saying sorry over and over wasn't necessarily what you were looking for. So instead she simply nodded, and let him continue.

"I was, uh, crossing the street, was going to surprise her at her office. Saw her getting out of a cab, and she looked so happy and that made _me_ happy. I'd missed seeing that joy on her face; it had been missing in her, but I'd assumed she'd just been stressed from work, and the long weekend would do her good. So I was excited to see she was already in a celebratory mood." His jaw tensed, his teeth clenched together.

"And then it happened."

"And then it happened," he confirmed. "I thought my world had ended. But it was a few weeks later, when she was dead and buried and I was at her office collecting some of her things in the middle of the night in a less than sober moment that I found it, and realised the grief I'd felt before had been nothing."

He paused then, and Katniss' brow furrowed as her mind raced. "Found what? What did you find?"

"It was a box. A box filled with treasured memories, like a keepsake box. It was so unlike Cass to have something like that, but I thought it was kind of sweet, this hidden sentimental side to her, so I opened it, figuring I needed something good again. And then..." He inhaled sharply. "And then I realised that while it _was_ filled with happy memories, it wasn't filled with me. Wasn't filled with us."

"Wha- _oh_."

_Oh._

The realisation hit her like a punch to the face.

_ There _ _was the dirty gossip Haymitch had talked about._

This time Peeta ran a hand through his hair, shifted his gaze to the fireplace as he practically stumbled over his words in his hurry to get them out. "His name was - is - Adrian. He was one of her co-workers - everyone always joked that they could be siblings, they looked that much like each other. Except it turns out that the feelings they had were anything but familial. He was there when she died, had been in the cab with her. And I realised that she hadn't been unhappy from being stressed from work like I'd assumed - she'd just been unhappy with me." He bit out the last few words as though they were hard to say.

"Oh Peeta, I'm sorry," she muttered, and this time she couldn't help it. She had nothing else to offer. "You didn't have any idea?"

"No. I didn't know at all, and it took her dying for me to damn well find out."

"How...how long had it been going on for?"

His right leg began to bounce as he tapped the ball of his foot against the floor. "I don't know. Some of the items in the box gave me an idea of at least 6 months, but it could have been longer. I don't know for sure. Either way, we hadn't even hit two years of marriage when it would have started."

_Only two years. How do you fall out of love with a person you promised forever to so quickly? How do you fall in love with someone else so much so soon that you'd risk it all?_ Katniss awkwardly tugged at the end of the sleeve of her shirt as questions she knew she'd never ask him swirled in her head. "Did you ever ask the guy? Adrian?"

Peeta's mouth curled bitterly as he turned back to look at her. "I asked him, once, against my better judgement. He refused to tell me, and no one else knew about it to be able to fill in the gaps. The only two people who could tell me were one who wouldn't and another who couldn't."

They were both quiet for a few moments, as they both mulled over Peeta's reveal. "So...not only did you have to deal with your wife dying, but also with finding out she'd been having an affair."

He nodded, and his leg grew still, the scowl falling from his face to leave nothing but exhaustion. "Three weeks of mourning her, and suddenly I realised that maybe I never really knew her at all. How could I know someone well enough if I never saw this coming? How well could I know someone who obviously didn't love me enough to stay faithful to me? And how was I supposed to feel, knowing the woman I'd cried myself to sleep over for nights on end, had drunk myself into a stupor over in grief, might have been planning to leave me?"

"I don't know," Katniss said quietly.

He rose and moved over to in front of the fireplace, planted his hands on the mantel. "In the end, I decided I was done with it all. I was leaving that life behind, because suddenly it wasn't the one I'd imagined it to be. It was all a lie; I was just a piece in somebody else's game, and they didn't even care if I got hurt. I gave her everything, and she broke my heart. And I never got a single answer. Not one." He paused, glanced over his shoulder at her before quickly looking away again. "So I took a sabbatical, left New York, and six months later saw the house, moved here permanently. I refused to go back, and I refused to ever let anyone get that close to me again. "

"And that's why you wanted no strings," Katniss surmised.

"That's why I wanted no strings. And it's why...it's why I didn't want to be interested in the first place. Why I wanted nothing to do with you, because there was no way in hell I was going to open myself up to the opportunity of that happening to me again." He didn't look at her this time; kept his eyes focused on the mantel in front of him. "And yet it still didn't stop me."

She didn't know what to say to that, didn't know what to think. Part of her wondered if it _should_ have stopped him, if it could have saved them all of this. Instead, she said what had been on her mind from the moment he'd begun to tell her. "You must have loved her a lot," Katniss ventured quietly; his shoulders visibly tensed.

"I did. But I haven't for a long time, because it's hard for the picture you'd painted of someone to be ripped to shreds with no chance of being repaired. I swing between the good times, and remembering how much I loved her, and then the bad times - what she did to me, and wondering what I did wrong to deserve what she did."

"I..." Katniss trailed off and shook her head, despite him not being able to see her do so. "Peeta, it wasn't you. You didn't _do_ anything wrong. She cheated; that was her decision, not yours."

"Because she didn't love me enough." He said it matter of factly, as though he believed it. And he probably did - if he'd been telling himself this for 5 years, it was likely so deeply embedded in him that it was all he knew.

He'd not hidden away just because he didn't want to get hurt again, Katniss suddenly realised. It was because she - _his wife_ \- had made him think he wasn't good enough, that she had to look elsewhere because whatever she'd wanted wasn't him. And he'd hidden the low self-worth she'd instilled in him as a result beneath a bitter aura of confidence and cockiness to try and compensate, taking away his ability to be _himself_ in the process.

More than anything else, Katniss hated Cassandra Mere for that.

She shivered - the temperature in the room felt like it had dropped five degrees - and brought her legs up until they were folded up underneath her, tucked her chilled toes beneath her thighs.

"Peeta, can I tell you something?"

This time he turned around, dropped back into the armchair, and slowly nodded. He looked utterly drained, and wary.

"I've told you about my sister, Prim. But I haven't told you about my parents."

"No. You've never mentioned them."

"That's because they're dead." Katniss said it matter-of-factly, like she'd become accustomed to over the years in an attempt to make it easier, and she saw Peeta visibly start. "My dad suffered a heart attack while he was out fishing when I was a teenager. My mom fell into a deep depression, pretty much buried herself in work to forget. She was just starting to become our Mom again when she was in a car accident - with my sister. They both died instantly. By nineteen I was an orphan."

"You..." His mouth opened and closed, but no other words came out.

She clenched her hands in her lap. "So while I can't say I understand being cheated on, or seeing someone die in front of me, I understand loss, Peeta. I know how it feels to have those that mean the most to you suddenly leave. And I struggled. I ran away, left my hometown and got myself into a relationship that I should never have gotten into in the first place, and when I realised my mistake, I just walked away in the middle of the night. And I was angry, so angry, for a long time. Even now I still have nightmares, images of a car crash I never actually saw running through my dreams. I still wake up calling for them. I still cry at night sometimes because I miss them that much. And I..." Katniss swallowed heavily as she prepared to tell him something she'd never told anyone else. Not Madge, not Gale, not Annie.

But he needed to hear this.

"I email my sister. There are probably hundreds of unread emails sitting in an inbox she hasn't accessed in 6 years, and never _will_ access. I tell her about work, my friends, my day...you." She felt her cheeks flush slightly, watched as his own mirrored hers. "But I don't care that she'll never read them - I do it because it helps me remember her. It makes me feel close to her. I used to email her often, a couple of times a week. Sometimes a couple of times a day when things were bad. When I moved here, it lessened, because suddenly things looked better, I felt better. Finnick and Annie have been a big part of that." The lump in her throat felt like the size of a rock, but she refused to stop now. "But since I...since this started between us, I've found that I've emailed her even less. Not because I don't miss her anymore, not because I don't wake up in the middle of the night and forget for a moment that she's gone and when I remember, it hurts all over again. It's because I'm getting better. Because I'm healing. Because I'm changing. Because I know she'd want me to be happy."

Peeta didn't say anything for a moment, just stared at her. Then he ran a hand through his hair, until the rumpled blond waves almost stood on end. "I had no idea."

She shrugged. "I didn't expect you to."

"And you've not emailed your sister as much since we started…"

Katniss nodded slowly. She knew it had been a risk admitting it, but he needed to know. And she needed to make sure that the decision she'd made was the right one. "I need to ask you something, Peeta. And I need you to be honest with me. Do you feel like you've changed in the last few months?"

* * *

_Do you feel like you've changed in the last few months?_

It was a loaded question.

Of course he had. He'd worked at the bakery, had begun to bake again after so long. He'd started to interact with people outside of work, had thrown away the box that had essentially started it all. He'd opened up to her about his family - hell, he'd told her about his brother's impending fatherhood without even thinking about it.

But Peeta knew what she meant.

He nodded slowly, hesitantly. "My dad and Cinna and Haymitch have all been telling me for years to move on, but it never really took before. Sometimes I flat out refused to, others I kind of attempted and dismally failed. I guess this time I felt like I had a reason to. Which is why I agreed to work at the bakery, why I...why I let myself become involved with you."

"But you still didn't feel like it was right for me to ask or to know about your wife."

He felt himself cringe. "I know it was wrong of me to react the way I did earlier. But it was almost as though I couldn't help it. The 5 years of keeping that part of my life locked away had prevented me from reacting in any other way. It was instinct. Bad instinct, but instinct nonetheless."

Peeta watched as she ran her tongue across the front of her teeth and clasped her hands in her lap again. Her shoulders were slightly slumped, as though they carried an invisible weight. "I meant what I said this morning, when I told you that I've seen glimpses of another man, one that I think you used to be. One who was charming and friendly and thoughtful. I've _seen_ the change in you, just in the time we've known each other. But you're still not there yet. I still don't think you've come to terms with what happened to you."

"I-," Peeta paused. He wanted to disagree, felt inclined to disagree. But that in itself - and his reaction that morning - told him that he hadn't. He was still holding onto what Cass had done to him too tightly for him to move on completely, no matter how much he tried. "No, I haven't."

Katniss nodded. "I think you need to. I needed to, and I know I still have work to do. But you have a lot further to go than me."

Something in her tone sounded so final, so firm, and his stomach pitched. "I feel like there's something else you're trying to say."

Peeta studied her as she looked down at her hands, and he noted how bloodless her knuckles were. "I need to be honest. I...don't think there's anywhere we can go from here. We can't continue like this."

Deep down, he'd known this was coming from the moment he'd blown up that morning, but it didn't make it any easier to hear. He felt like he wanted to throw up, but he nodded instead. "If you think it's best."

"I do. We both knew neither of us really set out for anything to happen. Nothing serious, anyway."

"I know."

"So it shouldn't be hard for us to walk away from it."

"No."

_But it was._

He rose to his feet, the need to both escape and stay warring within him. "I should go."

"Yeah." Katniss lifted her head and unfurled herself from the sofa, but still didn't meet his eye. She followed him out to the hallway, and he bent down to slowly tug his shoes back on. He straightened, then reached for the doorknob, before pausing to turn back to her.

"You know, outside of my family and Cinna, I've never told anyone any of this." He cleared his throat. "Well, Haymitch knew, but he's a nosy bastard who knew a big part of it already. But telling you...telling you almost feels like a weight off my shoulders. So thank you."

She nodded. "I'm glad." This time, she looked up at him, and her grey eyes were sad. "I'm sorry about what happened to you, Peeta. But you're worth more than any of that. You're worth more than the woman you married."

He didn't know what to say.

"So...friends?" Katniss stuck out a hand, and he stared at it for a moment before catching her eye.

"Friends?" Peeta knew his voice sounded incredulous.

"I don't do friendship well," Katniss admitted. "But I think we at least need to try."

"Okay." He clasped her hand in his, and he fought to ignore the electricity that felt like it shot up his arm at the touch. "Friends."

They shook once before he opened the door, and walked away.

* * *

The next day the weather turned again, the hints of warmth that had teased in the middle of the week and that had gotten people's hopes up of spring arriving quickly disappearing in a brisk wind and a return to freezing temperatures.

It snowed for four days straight, the house on the top of the cliffs shut out from the world in a haze of grey clouds and a barrage of winter white flakes. Peeta cleaned, cleaned more than he possibly ever had, until the wooden floors gleamed and his office was the most pristine it had ever been. He poured himself into his work, finishing two proposals, attending half a dozen virtual meetings and liaising with Cressida on a redesign she was doing in the Meatpacking District.

He ran on his treadmill relentlessly, dragged out the punching bag he'd stored in the mudroom but had never set up. He baked until his pantry was empty of ingredients, gorging on the Mellark secret recipe fruit loaf and biscuits and chocolate chip cookies. And then he worked out again, losing himself in the rhythm of his feet against the rubber beneath them, and the feeling of his fists pounding against leather.

Even when the snow had subsided, and he'd taken the shortest possible trip back into town to restock his food supply, he kept his work-workout-baking-workout-work routine until he was almost doing it all by rote.

It was always at night, though, that Peeta thought about her, when he found himself sketching Katniss again in the early hours of the morning, her braid and silver eyes and the curve of her shoulder appearing on his sketchpad or in the margins of a draft. When he'd remember an off the cuff, sarcastic remark she'd made about Haymitch once that still made him laugh. When he'd think about the time he'd seen her on the beach not long after he'd started working at the bakery, and he'd realised she could very well make him lose his mind. When he'd think about the time he'd had her lick batter from his finger and he'd reacted like a 16 year old boy.

He tried not to think about her, or remind himself of her, or draw her - but he did anyway.

Though for the first time in a long time, he hardly thought of Cass.

* * *

"Peeta, it's your dad. _Peeeeettttaaaaa._ Answer your damn phone, kiddo. I _know_ you're listening to this message."

Peeta glared at the answering machine on his kitchen counter, his arms wrist deep in dough. There was no way he could pick up the phone or turn the sound down without covering it in the slightly sticky mixture - but he knew his dad was likely to launch into song any moment. It had recently become his go to action to try and spur Peeta into picking up his call.

Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't.

"Alright then. If that's how you're going to be...ahem...uhhhh… _Where it began, I can't begin to knowing, but then I know it's growing strong. Was in the spring-_ "

_Okay, it was definitely working today._

Peeta practically leapt across the kitchen - dough be damned - and snatched at the phone, shoving it against the crook of his neck. "Oh my God, Dad. _Sweet Caroline_?"

"Hey, you know he's your mother's favourite. And I knew it would make you pick up the phone, because we drove you kids crazy playing his stuff when you were young. I knew I should have tried this years ago. Neil Diamond Karaoke Calls."

Peeta shook his head, had to stop himself from laughing at his father. "Please don't. I might need to get rid of the machine."

"Cinna wouldn't let you."

"Cinna would understand."

Nolan Mellark laughed. "Alright, alright. I'll retire the Diamond. But...you have to do something for me in return."

"What?" Peeta asked, suddenly wary. _Since when did his dad call for favours? That had always been his mom_. He wiped his hands on his shirt, the dough smearing across the pale blue cotton, and waited for what was going to come next.

"Tell me why you've become a recluse again."

Peeta heaved out a breath. "Oh. Uh, I've not. I've been finalising a lot of projects, working out, drawing…"

"Not answering all of my calls…"

"I genuinely missed them," Peeta insisted, though he cringed at the lie. _He hadn't. Some he'd definitely avoided, had purposely turned the sound down the minute warbled singing had begun to drift down the line._

"Fine, if you say so." The disbelief rang clear, but his father let it slide. "How're things, then?"

"They're…" He trailed off, the sudden need to be honest with his dad running through him. He ran a hand over his face before he remembered that it was still covered with dough residue, and cringed. "Ah, shit, dad. I fucked up."

It was quiet for a moment before his father replied. "I'm gonna let you get away with having a potty mouth this time, because I feel like for once you're going to be honest with me," Nolan said firmly. "What did you do?"

Peeta inhaled sharply through his nose. "I...I met someone."

"You did?" The surprise in Nolan's voice was clear.

"Yeah. I did. I didn't mean to; it just happened."

"That's great! What's her name? What does she do? What-"

Peeta butted in before Nolan asked the obligatory twenty questions. "Dad, I screwed it up by letting all the Cass stuff get in the way."

The responding sigh was long down the phone. "Ahh, Peet. What have we told you about moving on?"

"I know. I know. It was just...knee jerk. And I was an asshole to her, so she ended it."

"Did you apologise? Are you going to try to get her back?"

Peeta scoffed. "Of course I apologised. But she made it clear nothing is going to happen anymore. She just wants to be friends."

"Are you sure?"

He could picture her in his head, her tightly clenched hands, the sad eyes that would hardly meet his. "I...I think so."

"You _think_ so? Kiddo, do you care for this girl?"

He bit down on his lower lip hard enough he could taste the sharp tang of blood. "Yeah."

"Then just do whatever it is you gotta do. You keep saying you're going to try and move on - just _do_ it. Get your life back on track. Forget Cass. Forget bullshit that happened over 5 years ago and focus on the future. Because if you think she should be in it, then you should do something about it."

Peeta slumped against the kitchen counter. "How do you know I think she should be in it?"

He could hear the smile in his father's voice when he spoke. "Because if you didn't, you wouldn't have told me about her."

Half an hour later, the phone call long finished and the dough now dry and flaky on his skin and his shirt, Peeta knew without a doubt that his father was right.

* * *

The coffee grinder growled at her noisily, insisting on exacerbating the headache that had been thudding dully behind her eyes since she'd woken up. She'd already taken ibuprofen, was just waiting - impatiently - for it to kick in.

It felt like it was taking forever.

"Katniss, why don't you go home?" She felt Annie's hand rest lightly on her shoulder, and glanced back at her. "The kitchen is already pretty much cleaned up from this mornings baking, and I can get Finnick to come in for a bit, finish out the rest of the shift with me."

"I'll be okay, I just took something for it," Katniss murmured.

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. It's only because I didn't sleep well."

Annie reached around her, flicked the button on the grinder so that it stilled into silence. Thankfully, the group of giggling teenage girls who had come in for cappuccinos and the now infamous Cresting Wave cinnamon bun had left 5 minutes earlier, giving them one of their few Saturday morning quiet times. "Nightmares again?" she asked gently.

Katniss tugged on the end of her braid, then nodded. She always found it hard to lie to Annie, with her quiet understanding that reminded Katniss so much of Prim. "Yeah. I just kept waking up, over and over again."

"I'm sorry." Annie's voice was infused with sympathy. "I know how that feels. Well, the waking up part, anyway. Babies will do that to you."

"Of course. Plus being married to 'bundle of energy' Odair wouldn't help," Katniss said wryly, grateful that Annie knew her well enough not to push the nightmare conversation any further, deftly shifting the conversation elsewhere.

Annie smiled. "Yeah, between the two of them, they keep me on my toes. Some nights I think I'll never get enough sleep again, so it's been good having my mom here the last week to help us."

"I'm glad she's able to be here for you." Katniss' voice was quiet, but sincere. Annie's mother had moved away after getting remarried years earlier, and while she'd visited on and off since Dylan's birth, her recent retirement was enabling her to stay with the Odairs for the coming month.

She nodded, and pushed her wavy brunette ponytail off her shoulder."Yeah, I think Finnick's torn between making jokes about wanting his mother in law to leave, and kissing her feet in appreciation for being a live-in babysitter. The continued increase in business here, combined with Dylan, has him ragged, so it's really been good for both of us."

"Then maybe you need to look at more staff here," Katniss said simply. "I think it's warranted, and your mom can't stay here permanently."

"No, she can't. And we have actually talked a lot lately about bringing someone else in, showing them the ropes," Annie replied. "Ayuh, I think we need to."

Katniss nodded. "You do. It was a lot easier during that time when Peeta was still here, and after you'd come back. I think an extra pair of hands will definitely help."

"Mmmmm." At first, Annie didn't say anything, just hummed under her breath as she glanced towards the door, as though to make sure no one was walking in. Then she looked back at Katniss hopefully. "Speaking of Peeta...have you guys talked since..."

Thankful that the ibuprofen had finally kicked in, and that her heart didn't stutter at Annie's question, Katniss leant against the counter. She should have known the moment she'd mentioned Peeta, Annie would ask. She hadn't been able to keep what had happened between them to herself; after three days of being more sullen and sarcastic than usual - the effect of the shitty weather aside - Finnick and Annie had finally weaseled it out of her. She was at least grateful that it hadn't gotten out around the rest of town. "No, we haven't. And it's probably for the best. I was an idiot offering to be friends, because we all know I'm pretty shit at that."

"No you're not," Annie insisted.

"And anyway," Katniss continued, as though Annie hadn't spoken, "We didn't end things on bad terms. We said everything we needed to say, probably just a month or so late. But we said it regardless. So it's fine."

"And you're doing okay?"

"Yes," Katniss insisted firmly. _Absolutely._ _Totally. 100%._ "As I'm certain he is too."

"You're just not sleeping at all."

"That's noth-"

The bells on the front door chimed, and both Katniss and Annie looked up to see Effie and Florence bustling in, talking a mile a minute - Katniss breathed a sigh of relief. As much as she appreciated Annie's concern about what had happened two weeks earlier, it still wasn't something she really wanted to talk about.

"Girls, my John has been cravin' some of your cream pies for days," Florence announced, cutting herself off mid-sentence in her conversation with Effie. "I need him to shut it already, so I've come in to get a couple. Maybe then the man'll leave me in peace."

"Of course." Katniss opened the display case, trying to hide her smile, before pulling two of the small pies out. "Effie, can I get anything for you?"

"Oh no, darling, I just bumped into Florence in the street and got chatting away. Figured I'd accompany her." She tucked her lemon yellow purse under her arm, and gazed wistfully at the rows of pastries. "That eclair is calling my name, but I refuse to answer."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, dear," Effie replied firmly. "I'm due back in LA in two days, so no extracurriculars for me."

"Back to LA? That's exciting," Annie piped up, grabbing one of the bakery's pie boxes for Katniss to place the desserts in.

Effie waved a hand gaily. "Oh, I suppose so. Same old, same old. It's nothing compared to the other exciting news I heard just before when I was leaving the post office, though."

"Oh? What's that?"

Effie tskd. "Annie, dear, there's no need to keep the big secrets anymore! Of _course_ you both would have already known about Peeta's big, big, big project over the next few months!" She smiled widely, and even Florence beamed.

Katniss froze, thankful the pies were already in the box and no longer in her hands.

"You must be very excited for him," Effie continued, oblivious to Katniss' reaction.

"Uh...sure," she muttered.

"I'm certain you'll miss him while he's in New York."

"I'm...I'm sure I will." She felt her face grow hot, then cold, then hot again.

"And I saw him leaving your house this morning before he would have left town, so I'm certain you had a very _good_ farewell."

"Oh, Effie, stop!" Florence exclaimed, even as she tittered. Then she frowned. "Katniss, you alright?"

Katniss shook her head, the blood in her ears roaring so loud she could hardly hear a word they were saying. "I'm sorry, I've, uh, got a headache. Annie will finish ringing this up for you, I just need to go and splash some water on my face."

She spun on her heel, catching a quick glimpse of the concern on the three women's faces a moment before she pushed through the swinging door; she headed straight for the small restroom at the back of the kitchen. She didn't bother to lock the door, simply lowered her head until it was almost in line with the tap, and turned it on, dousing her face with cold water.

_He'd gone_.

Once her face felt cool again, Katniss straightened, turned the tap off and leant against the wall, letting out a long breath. He'd actually gone, he'd actually left. He'd gone back to New York, had obviously finally found the motivation to go and work on the project. After months of indecision, of refusing, of saying he was mulling it over when he probably never _had_ been, he'd just up and gone and done it.

_Peeta had gone back to New York._

A smile began to tug slightly at the corner of Katniss' mouth. Despite the fact that part of her was upset that he was gone, that a part of her ached knowing he wasn't up on the cliffs right now, most of her was happy that he finally seemed to have taken a step in the right direction. That he was doing something proactive towards healing.

That he was trying to make sure things _could_ be good again, just like he'd wanted to when he'd inadvertently opened a Pandora's Box of memories.

Except this time, she was certain he would.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in this chapter. Words haven't been coming as easily to me lately, so I fought with this to get it out!
> 
> Thank you, as always, for reading, for your kudos and comments, they mean so much. I'd love to hear what you think, either on here or on tumblr - I'm there under sponsormusings as well :)


	19. Chapter 19

It was another ten minutes before Katniss heard the sound of footsteps crossing the kitchen floor, and the clearing of a throat behind her. She slowly turned to find Annie leaning against the frame of the door, sympathy clear on her face.

"Are you okay?" She murmured, and Katniss nodded.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just...I didn't expect that."

Annie shook her head. "Me either. I hadn't heard a single thing about him leaving before then, otherwise I would have told you."

"I know you would have. I guess he did the expected and kept it close to his chest." Katniss sighed, lifting her hands and scrubbing at her cheeks. It was times like this that she was glad she never bothered with makeup for work, never had to worry about smears of mascara and blotchy foundation. She glanced over Annie's shoulder. "Shouldn't we go back out the front?"

"I put the closed sign up. People will just have to wait an extra ten minutes for their baked goods if they want them."

"You didn't have to do that."

"I wanted to," Annie said simply. "You're my friend, Katniss, and it was as clear as day to me that you didn't take that news well."

"I'm fine," Katniss assured her. "I was just shocked. I honestly think it's good for him - no, I _know_ it's good for him. He needed to do it."

"But what about you?"

"I'm not important." She held up a hand as Annie opened her mouth to protest. "I'm not saying that as a _woe-is-me_ whine. I'm saying it because it's true. He's been through a lot, and for him to make a decision like this is a huge step for him. So yeah, whatever we once had isn't important. We promised to be friends, and that's it."

"That's it?" Annie echoed doubtfully.

"That's it," Katniss reiterated firmly.

"Then why do you suppose he went to your house this morning?"

"I don't - Wait, what?" Katniss cut herself off, frowned. "What do you mean?"

Folding her arms across her chest, Annie lifted an eyebrow. "Did you not hear Effie when she said she spotted Peeta leaving your house this morning? I mean, she obviously thought he was leaving after _overnight activities_ , but that's only because everyone thinks you're still 'seeing' each other."

Katniss thought back to the conversation with Effie and Florence, and couldn't remember anything beyond the initial announcement from the roaring of blood in her ears.

"She really saw him leaving my house this morning?" Her throat tightened, her heart began to race, and she mentally kicked herself for reacting so much to something so minute. But...he'd gone to her house. _Why? What for? Had he wanted to speak with her, say good bye?_

"Uh-uh," Annie nodded, her eyes soft in understanding. "Do you wanna go see if he left anything behind?"

She warred with her decision for all of ten seconds before she nodded, almost like a puppet on a string.

"Go," Annie said firmly, and Katniss didn't need to be told twice.

She squeezed Annie's hand gratefully as she slipped past her, pushing through the kitchen doors into the shopfront and quickly snagging her purse, tossing the strap over her head. She walked outside, the cheery bells announcing her departure, her speed picking up the further away she got from the bakery. She ignored the odd glances that got thrown her way, and the bite in the air that chilled her fingers and the tip of her nose; instead she focused on nothing but the asphalt in front of her, and the street sign up ahead.

She didn't think it had ever taken her this long to get home before.

Katniss turned the final corner onto her street, shoved her front gate hard enough that it almost swung off its hinges and stumbled up the path, practically falling over in her haste. Then she pulled up short at the bottom of her steps, her eyes fixated at the foot of her front door.

It was an envelope, plain white and rectangular, with nothing but her name scrawled across it.

Katniss clambered up the stairs and snatched at it, lowering herself to the cool wooden planks of her porch as she ripped it open. It was, without a doubt, Peeta's writing, the familiar script she'd seen in the order books of the bakery.

He'd written her a goodbye.

_Katniss,_

_I hope you don't mind me writing this. The last time we spoke, you told me how writing emails had helped you when times were bad, or even when times were good. So I was going to write you an email...until I realised I don't have your email address. So a letter it is._

_By now you've probably heard that I've left - and if you haven't, those women are slipping. I wanted to tell you face to face, but I couldn't. Part of me was worried that if I did, I'd never leave. But I needed to say goodbye regardless._

_You - like so many others - were right. I need to move on. I guess I've been scared to, but I have no more excuses. I've let this go on for long enough, and there's nothing I can do to change what Cass did, and what happened. So I'm going back to work on that project. Cinna said I could commute, but I need to be there full-time if I've got any chance of getting my shit together. I'm not sure when I'll be back._

_I was an ass to you so many times, and I'm sorry for that - you never warranted it. But I'm glad you always gave me as good as you got. You've got a fire inside you that I hope you never lose._

_I hope you find what you're looking for, Katniss. You deserve it after everything you've gone through._

_Peeta._

She reread it twice, then dropped her head back until it hit the wooden post behind her, the letter falling from her fingers and fluttering to the ground; she didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Because it was already too late. She'd already found what she _hadn't_ been looking for.

And he'd gone to New York.

* * *

He stood in the middle of the bedroom, eyes closed, duffle bag by his feet. Outside, he could hear the honking of car horns, the general cacophony of traffic, the laughing voices of a few people walking down the street, getting ready for a big night out on the town.

On the inside, his heart was racing, his hands were clenched, his brow pearling with sweat that had nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with nerves.

Peeta hoped he hadn't completely screwed up by coming back.

* * *

"I heard the boy skipped town."

"Not hard to hear it - it's all everyone's been talking about."

"Did you know he was going?"

"No. Did you?"

"No."

Katniss eyed Haymitch warily over their beers, leant back in the booth a little more, her fingers scratching at the label on the bottle.

She hadn't been exaggerating when she'd said Peeta's departure was all anyone had been talking about. For a town that, 7 months ago, knew little more about him other than that he lived in the old Snow mansion, he was suddenly their number one topic, their number one interest. As a result, over the last week, the bakery had been a constant hotspot for everyone - people coming and going, wanting to know all about his project, about how long he was gone for, about how Katniss was feeling.

She didn't know the answers to any of those questions.

As a result, she'd begged for Finnick and Annie to allow her to hide in the kitchen, to do the prep and the cleaning up and avoid the shopfront as much as possible - and being the good friends that they were, they'd agreed. Instead, Finnick played the bakery showman, keeping the customers occupied with cheeky grins and winks and little hints of info here and there, without actually giving anything away.

"Don't believe me, do you?" Haymitch chuckled, the sound gruff and gravelly. "You know I got better things to do than lie to you about that. Like ordering another beer." He lifted his empty bottle, dangled it in the direction of the waitress, who nodded by way of acknowledgment. He was lucky that, this early on a Friday night, The Hob wasn't busy, that the waitresses were still willing to provide table service. In an hour, the place would be packed and Haymitch would either have to get off his ass and go to the bar or go home. "And anyway, I'm done getting in the way of you two."

"Good," she said firmly. "Not that there's anything to get in the way of."

Haymitch snorted. "Right. Why do I not believe you?"

"Because you're trying to shit stir?"

"Sweetheart, I don't have the energy for that."

"Then why did you ask me out for a drink when all you're talking about is Peeta?"

"Maybe it's a date. Maybe I'm just making sure he's no longer in the picture-"

"Ew." She wrinkled her nose, kicked his foot under the table.

"You ask a stupid question, you get a stupid answer." He paused while the waitress - a girl Katniss hadn't seen before - placed his beer on the table, and told him Darius had already put it on his tab, then rubbed his hand along his unshaven chin. "Look, I know how things ended between the two of you - or at least, I have an idea. And believe it or not, I give a shit about the two of you. You're both good kids. Mostly." Haymitch picked up the bottle, took a swallow. Katniss knew he preferred liquor to the frothy, amber coloured liquid, and begrudgingly thought it said something for him that he'd stuck to the beers with her tonight. "I just wanted to make sure you were doing okay."

She rolled her eyes. "A guy - a _friend_ \- just left town. It's not the end of the world."

"But it's a guy you liked. One you still like."

"This is an incredibly odd conversation to be having with you, Haymitch. Boyfriends and beers? I feel like a sleepover might be next."

He smirked then. "You keep trying to keep that wall up, sweetheart, no skin off my nose. If it's any consolation, I'm pissed at him too for skipping out of town without a word. He owed me a damn bottle of scotch."

"I'm not angry at him," Katniss rebutted honestly, even while Haymitch gave her a look that she was certain would have served him well in court. "I'm not. He needed to do it. For him to have any kind of future, he needed to face all that stuff."

Understanding seemed to fill his eyes. "And do you want that future with you in it?"

Katniss looked away, bit down on the inside of her lower lip. She'd basically told Peeta there was no hope of something happening between them, that he still had too much to deal with to even consider a relationship. After that, was there any hope, any point, of wishing for anything?

When she looked up again, she steeled her shoulders. "I think that whatever is best for Peeta is what he'll allow to happen. When or if he needs a friend, I'll be there for him. I don't expect anything more."

Haymitch tipped his head towards her in what appeared to be approval. "See? I told you you were a good kid. Even if you show no respect to your elders."

"Shut up and drink your beer, Haymitch."

He did, and so did she.

Their silence was companionable, and what they both preferred.

* * *

His hand flexed against the faux leather of the seat, his gaze fixed firmly on his lap. From the corner of his eye he could see the flashes of buildings, of street lights, could hear the rush of cars that surrounded them - but he didn't look up. He _couldn't_ look up. He didn't need to.

He knew exactly where they were, knew that less than a block from here were the offices of _Heavensbee, Paylor and Boggs._ And he had no desire to see them, had no desire to see that street. No desire to even pretend it existed.

_He wasn't ready for this. He couldn't do it. He couldn't see the spot where she'd died and it had all begun to unravel._

Peeta knew he should have redirected the cab driver blocks ago, but his heart had already been in his throat and the images had been flashing through his mind faster than he could stop them. And now here he was, in the middle of his own personal hell.

Without any more hesitation, Peeta blurted out a change of address to the driver, who scowled, then nodded and turned onto the next right. And the further they got from that street, the less his heart pounded, the less his head ached, the less his stomach churned.

The client meeting would just have to wait until tomorrow. There was no way he could function today.

Peeta tugged at the collar of his suit jacket, and feeling the rim of nervous sweat that lined the edge, slumped down further in the seat, and pretended he was anywhere but there.

* * *

April slowly shifted into May - Katniss' birthday came and went with little fanfare, just how she liked it. Finnick and Annie hired another part timer to help share the load with Annie, a young mom looking for hours during the weekdays while her kids were at school. Dylan Odair threatened to begin crawling every day, much to his proud parents' delight - and terror.

Katniss got herself into a routine of working, of running, of reading all the books she'd had on her list to read for years. She decided it was time to start exploring new options - while she had no plans to leave the bakery anytime soon, she knew she couldn't stay there forever. So she began to take a couple of general interest classes on the weekends and at night in the next town over - she tried pottery, did introduction to creative writing, started first year Spanish, gave archery a try.

No one was more surprised than her when shooting an arrow from a bow felt like it was as natural to her as breathing.

She thought of Peeta often, wondered how he was going, how he was handling his time in New York. She wondered if he'd ever come back.

But over a month had passed, and there was no sign of him, not a single word. She'd picked up her phone half a dozen times to text him, but something had always stopped her, and she'd never gone through with it.

She figured it was probably for the best.

* * *

The room was dark, save for the single lamp on the desk, lighting and shadowing the papers in front of him at the same time. The light patter of rain hit the window, breaking the silence of the otherwise still night.

It was already gone 5am, and Peeta hadn't slept a wink.

It had been 6 weeks since he'd returned to New York and gone back to work. He'd first stepped inside the offices of Cinna and Associates on a bright April Monday at 9 on the dot, where the overwhelming familiarity, the sense of _homecoming_ had been so strong he'd had to lock himself away for the rest of the day in the new office he'd been allocated. Until the very moment he'd stepped inside the lobby, he hadn't realised how much the place had been a part of his life until he'd taken himself out of it -and how odd a feeling it was now he was attempting to return.

There had been new faces and old ones, people who accepted him with open arms like a long lost brother, others who tried to covertly whisper behind their hands about _that dude who lost his wife and went crazy_. For the most part he'd ignored them, but he also hadn't perfected the glowering glare he owned over the last few years for nothing.

He'd gone nowhere but to work; his days a routine of sleeping, eating, going to the office and client meetings, and then returning home again. That routine alone had been a big enough step for him, he figured - trying to get back into the routine, the hustle and bustle of the city after he'd spent so much of his time in a lazy town by the coast. But he'd also found he wasn't nearly as ready for New York as he'd expected he'd be.

There was a memory on every corner, and - after his cab ride incident - he now carefully avoided each one like it was the plague.

The knock on the door interrupted the silence, and Peeta didn't even look up when he grunted his assent for whoever it was to enter - he heard the door open, the slight creak of a floorboard under a foot.

"Peeta, what are you doing? Have you slept at all?"

He glanced up this time, to see Cinna already dressed and ready for the workday - head to toe black, an umbrella in hand and a grey jacket slung over his arm. He hadn't been able to say no when Cinna and Portia had insisted on Peeta staying with them upon his return, and mostly, it had worked well. He'd been able to reconnect with their two daughters who he knew he hadn't seen enough of since he'd left, he hadn't had to worry about renting an apartment in the competitive NYC market, and he knew that if, at the end of the day, he needed time alone, they'd give it to him, no questions asked.

"I'm working," he said simply, before shifting his gaze back to the papers, pushing his glasses up higher on the bridge of his nose. "I need to get this initial proposal for The Templesmith Foundation finished."

"That's due in two weeks time."

"I want to keep on top of things."

With a sigh, Cinna crossed the room, leant against the wall beside Peeta. "Peeta, you need to stop. Please."

"Stop what?"

"I didn't ask you to come back to New York so you could hole yourself up in this room and rarely leave. I didn't ask you to come back to New York so you could work yourself to death. Portia's worried, Rue's worried - even Èlodie is, and all she generally worries about it is making sure _Frozen_ is in the DVD player. And of course, I'm worried too. I'm not just your boss, Peeta. I'm your friend."

The sharp edge found its way into his reply. "You wanted me back here."

Cinna nodded, pointedly ignored Peeta's tone. "You're right, I did. Because you're the best, because I wanted the best to work on this project, and the clients wanted the best too. But I thought by you saying yes, it meant you were ready."

"You made it pretty clear you expected a yes."

"I just wanted an answer. If you'd flat out told me _'No, Cinna, I can't do it'_ , then I would have - begrudgingly - accepted it. But every time we spoke about it, you always told me you were thinking about it, that you just needed more time to decide."

"Because that's what you wanted to hear."

Cinna sighed. "I wanted to hear that you were getting better, I wanted to know you were genuinely considering it. Maybe I should have accepted that the longer it took you to decide, the less likely it was that it was the right thing. I guess I had a little too much hope that you were getting ready to move on."

"Maybe you did. But I said yes in the end, didn't I?"

"And now I'm wondering why. You took 6 months to give me that final answer, Peeta, you obviously didn't make the decision to accept the offer lightly."

He thought of his last conversation with Katniss, the truths she'd told him to finally take that last step. "No, I didn't," he finally admitted quietly.

"Then you need to tell me why, instead of making that fresh start you promised me, you're falling into old habits."

"I guess old habits die hard."

"Don't pull that bullshit with me."

At that, Peeta looked up in surprise. Cinna rarely cussed, and when he did, Peeta knew it meant one of only two things - he was frustrated, or supremely pissed. He supposed it could have easily been either of those in this scenario.

He pushed his chair away from the desk, folded his arms across the front of the plain, white t-shirt he wore. When he spoke, his voice was tinged with resignation. "Look, I'm just not...as ready as I thought I was. I told you this place was full of Cass, and I wasn't wrong. Every second street corner reminds me of what happened, and it's a lot harder than I expected it to be. I just need some time."

"And when we have this conversation again in another six weeks, will you say the same thing?" He didn't say it rudely, or abruptly - it was just matter-of-fact, straight to the point. "Peeta, you could have spoken to me, told me how you were - or weren't - coping. But you're shutting all of us out, when we just want to help."

"I...I know. I can't help it."

For a moment Cinna was silent, as though he was contemplating his choice of words. And when they came, they were unexpected.

"These last few months I've seen a change in you, a change for the better. A change I've been waiting to see for years. I don't want that to be all for nothing. So if this isn't going to work for you, I'd rather you go back home."

Peeta blinked in surprise, pulled his glasses off and tossed them on the desk. "Are you serious?" _Maybe Katniss had been right when she'd told him there was only so much leeway people were willing to give - and after 6 years, Cinna had finally reached the end of his._

"Yes."

"But-"

Cinna's tone was soft when he spoke. "Peeta, I say that you're the best, but ultimately I only want what's best _for_ you. So the decision is yours, the client will just have to understand. They'll still have Cressida and Homes and the rest of the team. I just don't want you to live in your office, and this room, for the entirety of this project. It's not worth it, my friend." He stepped away from the wall, reached out a hand to rest companionably on Peeta's shoulder. "Just think about it, alright? I'll see you in the office in a couple of hours. And do me a favour - get some sleep before you do. Portia would die if she saw those bags under your eyes."

Cinna walked out, leaving Peeta speechless, and with no choice but to consider his boss' ultimatum.

* * *

The park was bright and sunny, filled with tourists and children and workers on their lunchbreak. The lake was dotted with rowboats, while couples and groups of friends lounged on the grass, sunglasses shading their eyes while they took in the spring sun.

Central Park hadn't changed a bit in the entire time he'd been away.

It had been a week since Cinna had given him the ultimatum, where he'd spent most of his time mulling over his options, his choices, the reasons he was here. He knew Cinna never said anything he didn't mean, and it had been the wake-up call he'd needed. Moving back to New York was one thing. Making a real effort to make it work was another. So he knew what he had to do.

Peeta sat on the park bench, his legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles, breathed in air that smelt of grass instead of sea salt. He sipped at his bottle of unsweetened iced tea, watched as a lone runner passed him by, her long black ponytail swinging behind her.

And he knew there was something else he had to do as well. He'd already put that off long enough.

* * *

_Peeta M: Hey. Wondering if you'd send me your email address? (sent Sat 2:55pm)_

Katniss stared at her phone screen, and the message that had unexpectedly come through while she'd been standing at their properties dividing fence, listening while Sae talked up the merits of a BBC drama she'd been trying to get Katniss to watch for weeks. She'd been surprised when she'd felt the buzz in the back pocket of her jeans - no one really texted her, other than Madge while she was actually in the country and Finnick and Annie, but she'd only seen them half an hour earlier at the bakery. It was probably just a stupid telemarketing message, she'd figured, or maybe a reminder for her dentist appointment the following week.

So when she'd dug it out to check, she hadn't expected for even half a moment to see Peeta's name there.

"Katniss? You alright?"

Katniss looked up abruptly to see Sae looking at her in concern, her hand outstretched and resting on Katniss' forearm. "Yeah, yeah I'm fine."

"You look a little shocked, dear."

"Oh." Katniss glanced back down at her phone, and the screen that had dimmed to black, then back up again. "Yeah. Just an, um...old friend messaged me. Do you mind-"

Sae waved a hand. "No, girl, you go on inside and speak to your friend. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay." Katniss turned to walk up her porch steps before Sae called out to her again.

"Before I forget - I'm making some of that chamomile bubble bath tomorrow. Would you like some more?"

"I-" She still had ¾ left of the last bottle that Sae had made for her, so her instinct to decline was strong. But she also knew she hadn't been sleeping well the last few weeks, and from the obvious look of sympathy on Sae's face, she knew it as well. Sae's offer wasn't really a question - it was a recommendation. "Sure. That would be good."

"I'll drop some by once it's done," Sae said with a smile.

Katniss nodded again, her mind already back on a one sentence text that felt like it was burning a hole in her phone.

She'd already resigned herself to the fact that she wouldn't hear from him. And now, when she least expected it, he was reaching out to her.

She dashed out her email address to him before she could second guess herself, and ran up her porch steps.

* * *

_Hi_

_I hope you don't mind that I'm sending you this. I wasn't sure if you'd reply to my text, but I'm glad you did. I'm sorry it took me a while to contact you. I had some...things to deal with first._

_I wanted to let you know that New York is going okay. The work, as usual, isn't a problem - it's great; creative, fulfilling, and the final piece is going to be amazing. At least, I think so._

_The city is the same in so many ways, and different in others. Being back I realise I genuinely did miss it while I was away, though it doesn't feel like home anymore. I don't think it ever will be. I think those memories will always kind of lurk under the surface._

_Cinna gave me an ultimatum not that long ago, told me that I wasn't making enough of an effort. And he was right. My transition back to New York didn't start off well, and I wasn't helping. And I knew that if I wasn't making enough of an effort, it would be grossly unfair to you. How could I explain that I'd given up, when you'd made it so clear to me that I needed to fix things - and when I'd agreed that I needed to?_

_So I am._

_Hope things are okay._

_Peeta_

* * *

_Hey,_

_I didn't mind at all, I'm glad you did. I was wondering how you were going, but I wasn't sure if you wanted to hear from me after… anyway, I'm happy to hear things are going good with the project._

_I remember when I first moved to Panem, it was really hard for me. It wasn't full of memories of my family - it was empty of them. And that was a lot harder than I expected, even though it was what I'd been looking for when I left home. So I don't think it's unreasonable for it to be hard for you too, for you own reasons._

_But I'm glad Cinna talked some sense into you._

_Haymitch, by the way, if you haven't spoken to him, keeps bitching about a bottle of scotch._

_K._

* * *

_Hi,_

_Haymitch, the whiny bastard, has now got his bottle of scotch. And I appreciate the advice. I can imagine it would have been hard for you. But moving to Panem was the right thing to do, right?_

_Peeta_

* * *

_Yeah, it was the right thing to do._

* * *

_Surprisingly, I'm beginning to feel that way about New York too._

* * *

Their emails - exchanged with no rhyme or reason or regularity - were generic, rarely ventured beyond what he was doing at work, what was happening back in Quarter Mile Bay. He talked about his brother, and the upcoming birth of his new niece or nephew, while she told him about the bakery, and how Florence and Delly had almost come to blows recently about the flower arrangements for the big wedding day.

Neither talked about what had happened between them before he'd left.

Neither admitted they wished things hadn't ended the way they had. They were barely able to admit it to themselves.

* * *

The beach was packed from the roadside to the shore - Katniss was fairly certain there wasn't a single person back in town. If she was a betting person, she would have bet ten dollars Main Street could have had tumbleweeds rolling down it and no one would be none the wiser.

The Fourth in Quarter Mile Bay was celebrated exactly like they did every other year - copious amounts of food, lots of music, more red, white and blue than you could poke a stick at, and fireworks to end it all.

Katniss was fit to bursting, full of seafood and baked goods and more lemonade than she'd possibly drunk in her entire life. She laid on a towel on the sand, a hand thrown over her eyes, while Annie sat on a blanket beside her, making incoherent sounds at Dylan while he giggled and clapped his hands.

"I don't think I can move," she groaned. "Ever. Change my address to here."

"You're going to have to move some time," Annie laughed. "You can't sleep on the beach."

"Yes I can," Katniss muttered. "Ugh, whose idea was that last round of corn on the cob?"

"Fairly certain it was Finnick."

"Damn Finnick."

"You could have said no."

"That would have been rude."

"And that's never stopped you before?"

"Shut up, Annie."

Annie laughed, and Katniss heard the cracking of a knee, felt the falling of sand on her bare calves. She moved her hand, uncovering her eyes and squinting up into the sun, to see Annie rising to her feet, Dylan squirming in her arms. "I think this little guy just ruined his pants - I need to get the diaper bag from the car."

"Okay."

"You want me to bring you more food on my way back? You look a little hungry."

"Shut up, Annie," Katniss repeated, and Annie grinned as she walked off.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she looked at the crowd of people around her, taking in the clear sense of cameraderie. She remembered being worried when she'd first arrived, hearing the stories of outsiders moving into small towns and never fitting in, and worrying if that feeling of belonging that she'd immediately felt would only be fleeting.

It still amazed her that _her_ of all people, had somehow felt comfortable enough, _included_ enough, to stay.

Even if everyone here was as nosy as all hell.

"Hey, Katniss."

She shifted her gaze up until she latched onto the blue eyes and red hair of Darius, who grinned down at her.

"Hey Darius. What's happening?"

"Figured you looked a little lonely, though that I might keep you company for a bit?"

She shrugged, tipped her head towards the sand beside her. "Go for it. I warn you, I might go into a food coma, though."

"I'll make sure no one buries you in the sand if you do," he promised, lowering himself to the ground, his legs steepled in front of him, his forearms resting on his knees. "You having a good day?"

"The Fourth is always fun."

"It is," he agreed, then coughed lightly. "So we, uh, haven't seen you around the Hob lately."

Surprised that he'd noticed, Katniss nodded. "Yeah. With Lisa Jackson now helping us at the bakery, we've been able to have a bit more flexibility with our shifts. I've been doing the early start on Fridays so I can take archery lessons at the campgrounds in the afternoons. I've been pretty tired at the end of the day, so I've just been going home."

The surprise was clear on his face. "Oh! Well, that's cool. Not what I was expecting to hear, though."

The corner of her mouth turned up. "I wouldn't have expected it either. But I took the class on a whim, and to my surprise I'm actually kinda good at it."

"Plus I guess it helps keep you occupied until Peeta returns?"

She was grateful her elbows didn't give way, that she'd managed to school her face to not react whenever anyone brought Peeta up. She'd been so careful to brush it off the last few months - his emails told her enough that when people asked how his project was going, she genuinely had an answer. Anything beyond work, though, she glibly shut down. "I'm not worried about that," she said, trying to keep her voice flippant. "We were never serious anyway. Mostly just...friends."

"Really?" Darius lifted his eyebrow in curiosity. "You guys seemed a lot more connected than just friends."

"Are you trying to be a friendly bartender right now, listening to my woes?"

He laughed. "Nah. Just a friend."

 _Just a friend_. She reminded herself of the times he'd tried to ask her out, figured she was better off stopping it at the pass, just in case. He _was_ good looking, there was no denying that. But he just wasn't for her. "Well, I appreciate it, Darius. But I'm not taking the archery courses to keep me occupied - I'm doing it because it's fun, because I'm good at it, and I like it. I'm pretty happy on my own at the moment."

She watched as his throat bobbed, as his eyes dimmed the slightest little bit. She had to hand it to him though - he recovered quickly, and he smiled widely. "That's good, Katniss. You know, it's been real good seeing you fit in over the last few years. It's almost like you've always been here."

"Just without the accent," she replied wryly, and he laughed, turning his gaze out to the ocean.

"Ay-uh. Just without the accent."

* * *

"Uncle Peeta! Come downstairs, come downstairs! Daddy said we couldn't light the sparklers til you're there!"

Peeta blearily opened his eyes as his bedroom door banged all the way open, lifting his head from the pillow. It had been a long day, a day where he'd spent most of it trying to forget what it was, what it meant, what it reminded him of.

It was the weekend of the Fourth, and he was spending it in New York.

Standing beside the bed, Èlodie looked down at him, all big brown eyes and wide smile and corkscrew curls. This time when she spoke, her voice was what could only be considered a stage whisper. "Uncle Peeta? Are you sick?"

"No, Èl, just a little tired."

"But it's not bedtime yet! We got pie, and firesparklers..." she patted his arm excitedly. "C'mon!"

He held his sigh back, knowing that Cinna had sent in his fiercest weapon. The baby of the Cinna family could get anyone to anything. And Cinna - firmly wrapped around her finger himself - knew it all too well. He knew Peeta wouldn't be able to say no to her.

"Alright," he muttered, dragging himself up as Èlodie clapped her hands in excitement, even while his throat felt like it was coated in bile. He allowed her to take his hand, tug him down the corridor and downstairs, out to the small backyard, where Cinna, Portia, Rue and a handful of their friends he vaguely knew sat with drinks in hand, fairy lights surrounding them and music on the radio. He knew they normally travelled out to the Hamptons for the festivities, that the sole reason they'd stayed in the City was because of him. He'd insisted they didn't, but Portia had told him firmly that they'd be spending the weekend in New York, and that's all there was to it. He hadn't been game to argue with her.

"Hey Peeta, glad you could join us," Portia greeted warmly, raising her glass to him. He saw Cinna hide a smile behind his hand, obviously pleased his plan to send his child in as the bargaining chip had worked. "Did you have a good nap?"

"Um...yeah. I did," he replied. His stomach twisted nervously. _You can do this. You can do this._

"Good. We saved you some food, but you can have some pie first if you like. There's no rules on the Fourth, right?"

"Yeah. Right."

He dropped into one of the patio chairs and accepted the plate of pecan pie proffered to him by a guy with a high forehead and bright orange hair, spooning it into his mouth while those around him continued to chat. Rue and Èlodie ran around the small square of grass with the aforementioned promised sparklers, waving them around in the air and singing a song he didn't recognise.

He hadn't celebrated a Fourth since before Cass had died, had let the day pass him by each year with barely the slightest bit of recognition. He'd ignored the festivities in Quarter Mile Bay, had always sat in the front room of his house that had no view of the beach and had pointedly avoided going into town the day before or the day after.

But he'd made a promise to Cinna. And this - recognising today - was a big step that he could take. One that he _should_ take.

He accepted the sparkler that Rue enthusiastically handed to him, spun it in the circles she instructed him to. And it didn't take long for her infectious smile to rub off on him.

He found himself wondering what the fireworks a few hours north looked like over the water.

* * *

_Hi_

_I celebrated the Fourth last weekend - with sparklers and pie and everything. I figure that's even more progress._

_Peeta_

* * *

_That is definitely progress - congrats. I know that wouldn't have been easy._

_Things were like every other year here - too much food, lots of music, fireworks. It was a good day. I ended it in a food coma._

_K._

* * *

He started to dream of her more often than not, dreams where she moved over him in the dark, dreams where she did nothing more than offer him one of her guarded smiles, dreams where she sat at the counter in his sunroom and scarfed down a cinnamon bun just like he'd seen her do so many other times.

As the time went by, Katniss had begun to haunt him more than Cass did.

* * *

"Peeta, Beetee Latier for you on line two."

Peeta glanced towards his phone, and shoved his glasses up on top of head at the same time he pressed the small intercom button.

"Thanks Lavinia. While I remember, can you do me a favour and pull the blueprints for the Arena proposal for me? I want to go over them at home tonight."

"Of course. I'll bring them into your office once I have them."

Quickly thanking her, Peeta switched over to line two, picked up the receiver to speak with his newest client, and swivelled around in his chair to look out the window and across to the building on the other side of the street.

"Beetee, it's good to hear from you. Any thoughts on the latest plans we sent through?"

"It's great work, Peeta, we're really happy with it. There's a few tweaks I think we'd like to make to it, and I'm very interested in finding out more about those sustainability options."

"I thought you would," Peeta said, a small smile playing across his lips. "Your interest in environmentally friendly solutions definitely came through in our first few meetings."

He fell into the conversation easily, discussing the development of Beetee's new technology lab in upstate New York, before closing out the call with a promise to meet the following week. Rising from his desk, he went through the motions of filing away whatever could hold until the next day, packing his laptop into his satchel, retrieving the tube of blueprints Lavinia - his team's PA - had left for him discreetly by the door.

The weather was good out, and appealing enough to make the trek to the Cinna's brownstone on foot. He'd promised to pick up dessert tonight, and figured he could pick up the girls' favoured peanut butter cupcakes on the way.

5 months had passed since Peeta had left Quarter Mile Bay in his attempt to push aside the demons that had haunted him since the day he'd said goodbye to the city he'd once called home.

After his rocky beginning where he'd all but given up before he'd started, and after Cinna had given him the ultimatum of staying or going, he'd started to try to make the effort to change. Celebrating the Fourth had been one of his first big steps, while he'd also taken more walks through Central Park, and had returned to the bakery he'd used to visit on Saturdays when he'd slept too late to bake. He'd visited the Museum of Natural History, went to the top of the Empire State and 30 Rock, easy ways to remind himself of some of the reasons he'd fallen in love with the city in the first place. He'd crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, studied the skyline of Manhattan as the sun had set and the sky had pearled from blue to orange to purple and the inky black of night. He'd walked down the street where he'd once shared an apartment with Cass, had eaten dinner at an Italian place that had once been 'his', and then 'theirs'.

He liked to think that by going back, it had become his again.

It hadn't been easy. Even now, there were times he couldn't go to a particular subway station, and he still avoided _that street_ , even if it meant going a block or two out of his way. There were still days when he wouldn't leave the house, other days when he couldn't help the surly retorts and replies from falling from his mouth. There were moments that he thought he saw Cass or Adrian on a street corner, and his head would ache until he'd remind himself that he was only projecting, only thinking of the _worst case scenario_.

At least, that's what his therapist, Dr Aurelius, told him he was doing.

At first, he'd steadfastly refused to seek help from a professional. He'd brushed it off every time Cinna had suggested it, had - as politely as he could muster - declined when Portia had tried to give him the number of the celebrity therapist du jour. _He didn't need the additional help_ , he insisted. _He was fine. He was in New York, wasn't he?_

But he still wasn't fine. And the day he felt himself wanting to bitterly snap at an intern gushing about her upcoming wedding that she was wasting her damned time made him admit it.

Dr Aurelius wasn't famous. He wasn't showy, or prone to great speeches, or asking _'and how does that make you feel?'_ with his chin resting on his pointer fingers and his eyes full of false concern like Peeta had expected him to. Oftentimes, he wondered if his sessions were just an interruption to the doctor's nap times.

Either way, it didn't matter. Dr A was no frills, no complications, no bullshit. In many ways, he reminded Peeta of Katniss. She'd never taken his shit. And neither did Dr A.

Maybe if he'd met them both years ago, his life would be markedly different.

But maybe if he had, he would have shut them down and turned them away like he had everyone else.

He knew, that with the help of Dr A, the guidance and friendship of Cinna and Haymitch, the support from his Dad and his brothers, and the emails he received from Katniss, he was finally on his way to becoming the man he used to be. He wasn't there yet, but he was close.

And the closer he got, the more it solidified that he wasn't willing to settle for just friends. Or no strings.

From Katniss, he wanted more.

* * *

She ran along the beach, the autumn breeze whipping her ponytail from side to side, the sounds of Mumford and Sons driving her along the sand. The late afternoon sun was warm on her skin, sweat slid down her spine, her heart pumped a strong and steady rhythm with each step. Each step that took her closer to the cliffs and the house that sat atop them.

The house that, almost six months later, was still empty.

Katniss tried to tell herself that she didn't miss him. But she did.

So instead of thinking of Peeta she forced herself to focus on Dylan's upcoming first birthday, and the over-the-top party Finnick had insisted on hosting. Katniss wasn't the best of party planners, but for Dylan, she figured she could make an exception. Even if Finnick liked to think of himself as a 'Party Planner Extraordinaire', and was slowly but surely driving her insane.

It was probably that lack of attention to her surroundings that made her almost fall over herself as she pulled up abruptly, her mouth dropping open in surprise.

Because _he_ was there. His golden hair shining in the sun, curling over his collar, slightly longer than the last time she'd seen him. He wore sunglasses, but she knew the moment he saw her, saw his hands - resting on the piece of driftwood he was sitting on - tighten and release against the greying timber.

_Had she somehow managed to conjure him up simply by thinking that she missed him?_

She started walking, kept moving towards him slowly until she was all but in front of him.

"You're back," she said simply, and Peeta nodded, pushing his sunglasses up so they rested atop his head. The first thing she noticed was the change in his eyes. They were brighter, lighter. And nowhere near as tortured as the first time she'd seen them on this very beach.

"Yeah. For a week, anyway."

"You didn't mention anything in your last email." _Not that he owes you his itinerary, Katniss._

"It was kind of a last minute decision to come back."

"To sell?"

"Sell? The house?" She nodded, and he shook his head emphatically. "No. I just took a week off." This time, he rose to his feet. "Why do you think I'd be selling the house?"

Katniss shrugged, shoved her hands in the pockets of her running shorts, her gaze drifting over his shoulder towards the house in the distance. "You've been sounding pretty settled in New York. I just thought…"

"No." His reply brought her gaze back to him, and she watched as his throat bobbed as he swallowed. "This is home. Once the New York project is done, I'll be back to my usual working arrangement."

"Oh." Katniss looked around them at the otherwise empty beach. _There was something about the intensity of his gaze right now that made looking at him all but impossible._ "You're not running today? Not making the most of the beach?"

Peeta waited a beat, and when he spoke, his voice was low and deep, and held something she hadn't heard in months.

"No. I was waiting for you."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, for your comments and kudos - and for your patience! I know there was a delay with this chapter, but I really wanted to finish my other WiP - Portrait of a Victor - before I got back into this story.
> 
> With the upcoming final round of Prompts in Panem on tumblr happening in early October, my next few weeks will be spent focusing on that. The final chapter of DBGB is not likely to be posted until the start of November.
> 
> I'd love to hear what you thought of this chapter, either on here, or on tumblr, where I'm also sponsormusings.
> 
> Thanks again! :)


	20. Chapter 20

_He rapped his knuckles three times on the door to Cinna's corner office and leant against the frame, crossing one foot over the other, keeping quiet the moment he realised his boss was in the middle of a call. Even on the phone, Cinna was expressive, gesticulating with his hands while he spoke into the hands free, his voice smooth and warm and friendly. Not only was he a genius with his ideas and designs, but he also had a way of mesmerising his clients into doing whatever he thought was best - and because it always was, none of them ever argued, none of them ever regretted it._

_He was one hell of a man to work for._

_At Cinna's silent wave of invitation to come inside, Peeta stepped into the office and moved to sit in one of the plush, black leather client seats, propping his right ankle on his left knee, his fingers tapping out an impatient rhythm on his calf. Ever since his decision the day before, Peeta had been itching to talk to him, knowing if he put it off any longer, he'd try and talk himself out of it. But two young girls pepped up on sugary cupcakes and a client emergency for Portia hadn't leant itself to a conducive conversation environment for he and Cinna, and so he'd had to leave it until today. He'd barely slept thinking about it._

_He hated that he was so nervous about the idea of going back._

" _Great, I'll see you on Thursday, Messalla. Appreciate it." Disconnecting the call, Cinna dropped the earpiece onto the desk and rested his hands against the back of his head, smiling at Peeta. "So...I've managed to get Messalla Bairstow lined up for some consultancy work with us."_

_Peeta raised his eyebrows in approval, nodded slowly. Even though it hadn't been a client on the other end of the line, Cinna had still clearly been able to work his magic. "That's a great catch, I know he's hard to get. His design work is inspiring."_

" _It is -_ _and_ _I think he'll work well with Cressida. They've got styles that would complement each other."_

" _I agree. And those rave reviews he got on those loft conversions downtown last month? Amazing."_

_Cinna nodded and rose to his feet, crossing to a credenza that housed a hidden mini-fridge. Pulling out a large bottle of icy sparkling water, he poured two glasses, then moved back to the desk. He handed one to Peeta, before perching on the corner of the tabletop. "They were great. But...I know you didn't come in to speak to me about Messalla. And he definitely wasn't why you were on edge all through dinner last night."_

_Peeta winced. "You noticed?"_

_Cinna tried to bite back a smile, to no avail. "You don't have the greatest of poker faces, Peeta. Plus you usually devour lasagna like it's going out of fashion. You pushed it around the plate more than_ _Élodie_ _normally does."_

_He sighed, sipped at the water that slid a chilly path down his throat. "Sorry. I guess I wasn't much company."_

" _You don't need to apologise. Now tell me what's up."_

" _I was hoping to have next week off work." He pushed the words out in a hurry, one starting almost before the other had finished._

" _Oh?"_

" _I know it's short notice, but the project is on schedule, I have no meetings, the team is across everything, I don't need to have the other propo-"_

_Cinna laughed and held his hand up, effectively cutting him off. "Peeta, it's okay. Go."_

_Peeta blinked in surprise. "What?"_

" _I don't need a rundown of where the project is at, I'm completely aware of how it's going. And you know I trust that you wouldn't be asking for the time off unless you were on track." Cinna pushed away from the desk, lowered himself into the chair beside Peeta. The glint of his gold cufflinks flashed as his sleeves pushed up slightly against his forearms. "You want to go and see Katniss, right? You want the time off to go and see her?"_

" _I…" Peeta trailed off, then nodded. There wasn't even any point in denying it, especially to Cinna of all people. "Well. Yeah. The last few sessions with Dr A have really helped. I think we need to talk."_

_Cinna looked at him approvingly. "Good. Not only do I think it's about time, but Portia will also be thrilled that Mark has been such a help to you."_

" _I'm just glad she suggested him in the end. He's better than what I expected him to be."_

" _Well, you've got no argument from me for having next week off, just make sure the team is fully apprised of where things are at."_

" _Thanks. I appreciate it."_

" _Anytime. You know I'm always in your corner, Peeta. Just remember to bring her into town to see us sometime."_

_Peeta sat quietly for a moment before he shrugged. "The balls in her court, really. I got up and walked away for 5 months. She could just tell me to get screwed, and she'd be utterly justified in doing so."_

" _She could, absolutely," Cinna agreed, standing and moving back around to his side of the desk. He smiled gently. "But something tells me she won't. If I was a betting man, I'd bet on the two of you."_

" _I was waiting for you."_

* * *

He couldn't have sounded any cheesier if he'd tried.

He'd been on the beach for an hour, waiting - and hoping - that Katniss would appear. He'd taken a chance, without knowing for sure that she'd show up, but relying on the knowledge that Katniss was a creature of habit. Saturdays, without fail, had always included work in the morning, a few hours of chores in the afternoon, and a run timed to end at her front gate just as the sun began to set. And so he'd waited. Patiently. Then impatiently.

And just when he'd considered giving up and going home, she'd curved around the bend, her long, lean legs eating up the sand, her stride graceful and purposeful all at once.

It was beyond ridiculous how much he'd missed her.

Now he watched as the line between her eyebrows began to appear, drawing the skin together and making her confusion at his words clear. It was mirrored in the slight narrowing of her eyes, in the way she took half a step back.

"You were waiting for me?" Katniss echoed.

He nodded, fought with himself not to reach out and touch the ends of the long black ponytail lying messily over her shoulder. Instead he shoved his hands in his pockets in a mirror image of her own stance, while his stomach twisted. Nerves, he'd become used to. But this was something entirely different. "Yeah. For you."

"Why?"

He eyed her carefully, weighing his words, then figured he may as well go all in - the worst she could do was tell him to get screwed, and he'd had worse things happen to him than that. "I was waiting for you because I've fucked up enough things over the last few years, Katniss. I didn't want this to be one of them."

It was probably one of the truest things he'd ever said.

"This?" Katniss said it lightly, almost flippantly, but - much like her schedule - he'd come to understand so many of her nuances. Not seeing her for 5 months hadn't changed that.

He knew she was nervous too.

"This. Us." He lifted his hand, waved it between them.

Her lips firmed together, tightly enough that they looked bloodless. "Peeta, we agreed-"

"I was wrong." He cut her off, his voice sharper than he intended it to be, and he worked to soften it. "5 months away has told me we were wrong that day when we agreed to just be friends. Both of us were wrong. And we were stupid if we thought getting involved in the first place wouldn't result in something like this happening."

Her mouth dropped open slightly. "Wow, you come all the way back to town - _out of the blue_ , I might add - to tell me that I was wrong, and that I was stupid?" She yanked her hands out of her pockets, folded her arms across her chest.

He felt his jaw tighten and clench in frustration. "That's not what I'm saying, and you know it."

Katniss shook her head, sharply pivoted until she was staring out at the water instead of at him. "You said-"

"I _know_ what I just said. I know what we both said months ago as well. Some of it was true. A lot of it was bullshit." He moved around until he was standing in front of her, until she had no choice but to look at him. He admired the jut of her chin, the way her eyes - just a moment ago shimmering with confusion - were now steely with firm resolve. "I walked away because we knew it was the best thing for both of us at the time. And now it's not."

"So you think you can just waltz back into town and pick up things where we left off?" Katniss scoffed.

Peeta shook his head. "No, I don't expect that at all."

"Then what _do_ you expect?"

He thought of all the conversations he'd had - mostly reluctantly - with Dr A over the last few months. The ones where he'd talked about his regret over the way he'd kept Katniss at arm's length. About how he'd always expected her to hurt him like Cass had, so it was better to keep that wall between them, even when there had been no hint that Katniss would. About how he knew, deep down, that she'd been just as hurt by her past, even if it was in a different way - but his own self-centered focus had prevented him from recognising it as much as he should have.

And he thought about how the anger and hurt and frustration he'd held onto tightly for so many years had started to ebb away the moment a stubborn brunette with a scowl had wormed her way into his life, even when neither of them had wanted it.

"No, I don't want to pick up where we left off. I want to start over."

She ran her tongue across her teeth, and her gaze drifted off to the side, out towards the cliffs. When she looked back at him to reply, her voice was strong, but held a hint of what he thought was sorrow. "Well, I don't know if we can, Peeta."

He felt like she'd ripped his heart out and stomped it on the ground, but he gallantly nodded. "That's fine, then. I can accept that."

Katniss was silent, only the sound of the water hitting the shore breaking the quiet. She sighed deeply before continuing. "But...I mean...there's a lot we need to talk about. And I don't think a conversation on the beach is really an appropriate place for it."

Peeta felt a glimmer of hope. "So-"

"I'm not promising anything." This time, she interrupted him. "But we at least need to talk properly, right?"

"Right," he agreed. "I'm, uh, in town for the rest of the week if you want to...talk properly."

"I have plans tonight and tomorrow, but Monday night would be fine. There's a little Italian place about 20 minutes away, _Popolo_?"

Peeta nodded. "I went there with Cinna once when he visited."

"Alright. We'll meet there at 7."

He swallowed. "Do you, uh, want me to pick you up?"

"I've pretty much got free reign to use Finnick and Annie's spare whenever they don't need it, so I'm fine."

"Okay."

"Okay." She took a step back, unfolded her arms. "I've got to go now, or I'll be late. I'll see you Monday."

Part of him wanted to know what her plans tonight - and tomorrow - were. The other part told him he had no right to ask, so he didn't. "I'll see you then."

She turned around, began to jog slowly down the beach before she tossed a look back over her shoulder, called out to him. "You look good, Peeta. New York agreed with you."

He didn't say anything in reply; he simply watched her run away, and continued to rehash their entire conversation over in his head long after she'd gone.

* * *

She couldn't believe it.

_She'd played hard to get._

She'd been on the planet for 27 years, and hadn't played hard to get once, had thought it pointless and a waste of time - and then she'd finally decided to play it on the very day what she'd wanted had stood in front of her, laying it all on the line.

Okay, so it hadn't been playing hard to get _exactly_. The way she'd reacted had been the best - and only - way for her to react in a situation she'd been completely and utterly unprepared for. Despite admitting to herself only moments before she'd seen him that she missed him, she'd had no intentions of throwing herself into his arms like a damsel. Almost out of instinct, she'd gone on the defensive, her go to reaction for anything out of control, anything unexpected.

Because, after all his time away, she definitely hadn't expected Peeta to randomly be on the beach, hadn't expected him to look so... _light_. Hadn't expected him to tell her he'd been waiting for her, and most definitely hadn't expected him to tell her that he wanted to start over. That he didn't want to ruin _this_.

 _Us_.

What she'd told Haymitch all those months before about being there for Peeta when he'd needed her was the truth, and she'd done that. She'd been his friend, had replied when he'd emailed her, had kept up the tenuous connection between them. But he'd never hinted that he'd still wanted more from her, not once. She'd figured he'd moved on, or at least had decided that for him to heal, he was better off without her, or anyone.

But maybe he'd just been as cautious as she had. After all, she'd never broached the subject in the time he'd been away. She'd never told him she'd missed him. She'd never told him that, on nights that she woke crying from a dream about Prim, that she'd wished he was there. She'd never told him that, while it had definitely been the right thing for them to end things when they had, she hadn't completely given up hope that maybe, just maybe, it would work out. Maybe now it would.

But...part of her liked the idea of making him sweat a little first.

* * *

Peeta studied the menu without seeing a word, the lines blurring together until it looked more like hieroglyphics than English. He glanced at his watch - again - noted it was only a minute later than the last time he'd looked at it.

He remembered the first time he'd officially gone out to dinner with Cass, how insane downtown traffic had meant she'd arrived 20 minutes late. He'd sat there calmly, not worried at all, somehow certain she'd turn up - and when she had, he'd been thrilled, but unsurprised, to see her.

But waiting for Katniss was completely different. He wasn't calm at all.

There was a chance she wouldn't show up. There was a chance she was only coming out of pity. There was a chance she'd arrive and do nothing more than throw a glass of wine in his face before walking away again. There was a chance she'd tell him that there was no hope for anything between them, and that he'd come back to Quarter Mile Bay - and to her - all for nothing.

And then she was being guided through the restaurant, wrapped in the same silky green dress she'd worn to the engagement party, and he didn't have any more time to worry.

He rose to his feet instinctively - ingrained manners drilled into him from his mother - as she arrived beside the table, waited until she'd taken a seat before taking his own again.

"Hi," Katniss said quickly, placing a small clutch beside her on the table.

"Hi. I'm glad you came," Peeta replied, before pausing. "I wasn't sure you would."

"Really? Why not?"

"How long have you got?"

The corner of her mouth quirked up. "I have a late start at the bakery tomorrow, so..."

He smiled at that, felt a little of the worry that had settled on his shoulder ease. "Then be prepared, because my list is long."

Easing back in her chair, Katniss reached for her menu, swiftly opening it. "I told you I'd be here, Peeta; there was no need for me not to."

"True." He nodded. "You, uh, look great."

"This old thing," she glanced down at the dress, shrugged. "Just something I had lying around."

"Katniss."

"Yeah?" This time she looked straight at him, and the little candles in the middle of the table reflected in her eyes, sending them to smoke.

"You look amazing," he reiterated firmly, and watched as her cheeks pinkened.

"Good evening, can I get you both a drink?"

Whether it was good or bad timing, they both looked up to see their waitress studying them expectantly, electronic tablet in hand. Peeta tossed a glance in Katniss' direction, indicating for her to go first.

"Uh, I'll just have a glass of the Pinot Noir, thanks."

"Make that two," Peeta agreed, and the waitress nodded, before walking off.

With the pleasantries out of the way, and drinks ordered, an awkward silence fell over the table, whatever bravado either of them had disappearing with the waitress.

"So...this is weird."

"Is it?"

"We've never had a problem talking before."

Katniss shifted in her chair. "No, I suppose we haven't. Always willing to throw a biting remark or sassy comment the others way."

"Or flirting with each other."

She raised an eyebrow. "That was all you. I can't flirt my way out of a paper bag."

"I don't know about that. You always did a good job of it with me."

She turned back to her menu, lifting it slightly to hide her face. "I never flirted with you."

He stared at her long enough that he could see her fingers twitch against the menu, her eyes start to hesitantly peer at him over the top of it. "Well, whatever you did, Katniss, it worked," he finally said, then glanced up at the waitress as she placed their drinks on the table.

Their orders were swiftly taken, allowing them to fall into a conversation that veered between awkward, stilted and formal. The problem, Peeta realised, was that they were trying to do everything 'right'. Trying to be polite, trying to steer clear of things that they both probably wanted to avoid. And that wasn't going to get them anywhere.

He needed to get this over with.

"So have you thought any more about what we talked about the other day?" he started abruptly, the moment their meals were placed in front of them.

Katniss blinked, then dropped her gaze to her meal, picking up her fork. "Constantly."

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. "Oh."

He watched as she twirled pieces of long, thin pasta around the utensil. "You thought I wouldn't? It's not every day someone tells me they want to be in a relationship with me. In fact...it's not something I'm familiar with at all. So yeah, I've been thinking about it."

"And?"

Katniss paused in her actions, looked over to him. "I've been thinking."

"And that's all?"

She sighed. "Peeta, you know as well as I do that I wasn't looking for anything when we started all of this. Neither of us were. So when you left, it hurt. More than what I expected it to, even though I knew you needed to go, even though I'd been the one to suggest we just be friends. But it hurt. And it took me back to the one place I didn't want to be - aching over the loss of someone."

Peeta swallowed heavily, feeling hopeful and like a complete asshole at the same time. But at least he recognised it - Dr A would be proud. _"Acknowledging you're being...an asshole, for lack of a better term, Peeta, shows you're progressing with our sessions_." "You didn't lose me."

She shook her head. "But I did, even though I didn't realise it until after you'd gone. I just need to be sure that you're ready for something like this, because I won't go through it again." She turned back to her pasta, raising it to her mouth.

He picked up his own fork, scooping up some of his lamb ragu. It was terrific, but it could have been toast for all he knew. He could hardly taste a thing.

Because he knew she was right. And right now, he needed to be completely honest with her.

"I started seeing a therapist in New York," he blurted suddenly.

If she was shocked, or surprised, she didn't show it. "That's good."

He ate another forkful, using the time it took to swallow to figure out what to say. "Yeah. It, uh, took a while for Cinna and Portia to convince me to give it a go, but in the end it was a good decision. The seeds you, and Dad, and Cinna and Haymitch planted...well, he's a professional. I guess he knew what to do with what was already simmering away."

Katniss was ploughing away at her food like she hadn't eaten in a week. "It seems like it."

"He's helped me to face up to a lot of things I didn't want to - most of them I already knew. Like how I've acted like a dick, said a lot of stupid things, treated people like shit. But the whole point of me going back to New York was to move on with my life, and he's helped a lot with that. I'm not there yet, but I'm on my way."

Katniss paused, placing her fork back on her plate. Her voice lowered until it was barely audible. "You know that's all anyone wants for you, right? For you to be able to move on."

He shrugged. "I suppose."

"You suppose?" She reached out and lifted her glass of wine, took a deep swallow of the ruby red liquid before placing it back down again. "I bet if you asked anyone in your life, they'd tell you that. They'd tell you that you didn't need to define yourself by something that someone else did, by something that happened to someone else."

He understood her meaning without her actually saying it.

"You don't seem defined by it," Peeta murmured quietly. "How?"

Katniss drew her teeth along her bottom lip. "I _was_ defined by it, for a long time. It took a few years to accept the things that happened to my family - it took me leaving and driving hundreds of miles away for me to finally feel settled in some way. It doesn't mean I've ever gotten over it, or that it will ever be something for me to think of easily." She paused, gathered her thoughts. "But I lost my family, and even after they died they were still the family I always knew. You...you had to deal with finding out that the person who had been your family was someone else entirely. I'm not surprised it took you as long as it did for you to decide to come to terms with it."

Peeta looked away, at the table beside them full of the empty plates of a recently departed couple. "I'm not sure I would have unless I'd met you."

"I think that's bullshit," Katniss said immediately, and he shook his head.

"I'm serious." He glanced back at her. "I don't think you understand the effect you can have."

She rolled her eyes. "I don't even know what that means."

He leant forward in his seat, his hand gripping his fork tightly. His voice was urgent, intense. "It means that for well over 6 years, I didn't really let anyone in, refused to let anyone get close. Refused to let my family and my friends _be_ the family and friends they wanted to be. And no matter what they did, or said, it didn't change a thing. I didn't give a shit. Plenty of people have held a mirror up to my face over the years, but none of them were ever as good at it as you. A stranger who had a bark as bad as my bite. Maybe that's why - because you weren't afraid to call me out."

"It was up to _you_ to make the decision to change," she said. "No one else."

"I know. But it took me a hell of a long time to get there, and in the end…"

"In the end?"

He dropped his fork onto the tablecloth and leant back in his chair, felt his throat thicken with discomfort. No matter how much he'd talked about his feelings with Dr A, no matter how much he'd told him that Peeta needed to be honest with those around him, it was still hard for him to share.

"You know, I still have bad days. Bad days where I have to hole up in my room and pretend not to hate the world. Days where I'm overly blunt with people when they piss me off, rather than taking a moment to choose my words carefully. Days when I don't give a shit. Days when I work until 3am because I need to focus on _something_ other than the doubts in my head. But they're not like they used to be. I have more better days now than I used to - and that's because of you." He folded his arms stubbornly across his chest, because, even now, he _hated_ the fact that Haymitch had mostly been right. A woman had made him who he'd become - and another was helping to return him to who he'd been.

He was practically a damned walking cliché.

"Peeta-"

"Just let me get this off my chest, okay?" he muttered, and she nodded. "In the end, it was really the thought of fucking things up for good with you that made me want heal, to put Cass behind me. I don't know if things will work out between us - or even if you want to give us a try. But I do, and I'm willing to take the chance. If you are."

Katniss shifted in her seat, and rested her elbows on the table. Her hair curved over her cheek, hiding part of her eye, making her look younger, more vulnerable. "Neither of us are perfect. Neither of us ever will be, and I don't expect either of us to ever be 100% over the loss of those we loved." She bit down on her lower lip briefly. "I moved here to get away. You moved here to hide. Maybe we need to figure out if we're both here, at the same time, to actually have a life."

Peeta tipped his head to the side. "So what you're saying is-"

"Let's give this a try," Katniss said firmly. "But...we need to take things slow, not rush into anything. I don't want the same thing to happen again. We just need to see how things go, okay?"

He nodded. "Okay." He looked down at his plate, picked up his fork again before speaking. "I'm in town until Sunday. Can we see each other again before then?"

Katniss smiled slightly. "I'll allow it."

* * *

They saw each other twice, away from the prying eyes of others in the Bay. She visited him at his house, where they sat on the back deck, drank beers and talked TV as the sun went down, settled down on Adirondacks a good foot away from each other. The second time they saw a movie in the next town over, tentatively holding each other's hand while the dark offered them a way to study each other's profile without getting caught.

_(They both did)._

A third 'catch up' was abruptly cancelled when Peeta, caught on an unexpected emergency conference call that soon descended into yelling and finger pointing over an error, knew he was in no state to be around anyone.

He returned to New York, their final contact before he left a phone call that took them well past midnight and had them both already tired when their respective alarms went off at 5am.

But it was progress. And that's what mattered.

* * *

_Hey._

_Work is insane. One of my client's wives has decided she wants a second kitchen in their apartment. A second kitchen, for a woman who never cooks. She is, I swear, the most high maintenance person I've ever met in my life._

_Being back has made me remember just how noisy it is here. I'd forgotten how silent the nights can be back in the Bay._

_You should visit one day._

_Peeta._

_********_

_Is that an invitation?_

_You're lucky you kept your visit so quiet - you're all anyone has talked about this week, coz Finnick accidentally let it out of the bag that you'd been here. Anyone would think you were one of Effie's clients or something, the way they talk about you. Weren't you a surly asshole, like, a year ago?_

_K._

_********_

_I can still be a surly asshole, I assure you. Some habits are hard to break, but I'm trying._

_Has she had clients show up in QMB before?_

_And yes. That was an invitation._

_Peeta._

_********_

_Well, maybe I'll take you up on it. You can show me around._

_Yeah, she's had a few. One of them - he's young, cute, stars in this big trilogy - came to QMB about 6 months after I moved there. A girl passed out in the middle of the street after she met him._

_K._

_********_

_Young and cute, huh? Sure the girl who passed out wasn't you?_

_********_

_Why? Jealous?_

_********_

_Maybe._

_********_

_Ha._

* * *

The phone rang once, twice, three times, and Katniss closed her eyes, dropped her head back to the arm of the sofa. It had been a long day, and right now she was looking forward to a bath and bed. But she had to do this first.

She and Peeta had had two weeks of virtually non-stop emailing since he'd returned to New York. They'd had a couple of phone calls, half a dozen texts. And with each one, she felt the invisible walls they'd always seemed to have between them slowly begin to crumble.

"Yeah?"

His voice was sharp and clipped when he finally answered, breaking her out of her reverie. "Hey, it's Katniss," she started.

"Hey!" The immediate change in his voice was clear. "Sorry about that. I was neck deep in a draft and I guess I haven't come up for air for a few hours."

"It's okay," she replied. "I'm pretty sure I don't have the most welcoming of phone greetings 24/7."

"Still." He paused, blew out a deep breath. "Anyway, what's up?"

She cleared her throat nervously, because whether he knew it or not, the next question she asked was a surprisingly important one. "Uh, Dylan's having his first birthday party in two weeks time and I was wondering if you wanted to come back for it?"

She could hear his smirk down the phone. "You looking for a hot date?"

 _Okay. This was going to go fine_ , she realised."I've heard kids' birthday parties are _the_ place to hook up, so you'll be cramping my style, really." Over the course of the last few weeks, a playfulness had begun to inject itself into their interactions, one that they'd never really achieved before. She liked it. It was nice. Fun.

It made her eager for his responses even more.

"Well, Finnick and Annie have already invited me, and I said yes, so I'll be there. I guess I'll be cramping your style either way."

"I guess you will."

Katniss heard him clear his throat, heard a thud that sounded like a foot hitting a desk. She imagined him in some fancy-pants office high up in a skyscraper, his suit jacket tossed carelessly on a chair, his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened around his neck. It was...an appealing image, she couldn't lie. "I was also thinking about coming back to town this weekend. I've got a meeting that finishes at midday on Friday, thought I might hop on a flight to Portland after that. There's a bit of work I need to do on the guest bath, so…."

She closed her eyes as she pictured her calendar on the side of the fridge. "I have this Saturday off - Annie and I do alternate Saturday's now. I have to baby-sit Sae's granddaughter for a couple of hours in the afternoon, but other than that, I'm free. Oh - wait. No. Never mind."

"What? What were you going to say?"

Katniss felt her cheeks flush. "I was actually going to go to the archery fields in the morning. I've, uh, been going pretty often since you left. But I can wait and go on Sunday."

"No, stick with it. I'll go with you."

Her eyes flew open and she stared blindly up at the ceiling. "You want to go to the archery field with me?"

"Why not? You get to shoot things, right? Sounds like a good way to get out some frustrations."

Katniss chewed on her bottom lip. "Tough times at work, still?"

"Yeah. Sure. Something like that," he agreed, then coughed slightly. "Anyway, I'm heading out to dinner with Portia and the girls while Cinna is out of town. I'll speak to you soon."

"Okay."

She hung up the phone, held it against her chest, and smiled.

* * *

The morning dawned chilly, a cool but gentle breeze reminding Katniss that while October was practically perfect, November - and the inevitable slide into winter - wasn't too far away.

She dressed in jeans, an old black sweater that had definitely seen better days and her worn, brown leather boots, her hair braided back in its usual style. It had become her go-to outfit for when she went to the fields, preferring comfort over style. And just because Peeta was taking her there didn't mean she was going to dress up for him any more than she usually did.

Though she did apply a few strokes of mascara and a swipe of lip gloss. It didn't hurt.

She waited at the front fence until his car pulled up at the curb, and she quickly crossed to it, opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat. She tossed her backpack, containing a couple of bottles of water, a packet of band aids and a cap, in the backseat.

"Hi," she greeted.

"Hey," Peeta replied, glancing at her quickly and managing to skim over her head to toe before moving his eyes back to the road. "You good to give me directions?"

"Of course." She rattled off the quickest - and easiest - way of getting there before settling back into the seat. Music played over the speakers, an old song she remembered her dad singing when she was a kid. "Soooo have you ever used a bow and arrow before?"

Peeta shook his head. "Only one of those Nerf type things as a kid. Is that going to be a problem?"

"Nope. I'd never used one before either, the instructor just told me that I'm a natural."

He flicked her a look of horror as he turned the corner that took them onto the road out of Quarter Mile. "Have we got an instructor today?"

"Just me," Katniss assured him. "The class I took went for just over three months. Now I go whenever I want, for fun."

"For fun," he deadpanned, and she felt the smile tug at the corner of her mouth.

"Yeah, for fun. Better that than for survival, right?"

"True," Peeta agreed.

They chatted aimlessly on the short drive, continued to do so while Katniss took Peeta through the motions of selecting the right bow from the ones they had available to hire before leading him out to the line of targets. She watched the seriousness on his face as he slid the protective brace along his left forearm, while he tugged on the string of his bow slightly to test its resistance. She gave him some tips, demonstrated how to shoot, showed him the right stance. It meant she had to slide in close to him, pressed up against his back as she moved the way his hand clenched around the bow. The shiver that ran down her spine, and the echoing tug of desire that flared in her belly, was all too familiar - and sorely missed.

She stepped away, already regretting the loss of the steady warmth of his body against hers, and waited for him to shoot.

He missed the target by miles.

She hid a smile behind her hand, trying not to laugh as he got increasingly frustrated with each failed shot. The ground in front of and around the target was dotted with the long slim arrows, their brightly coloured fletching standing out against the green grass, and the more Peeta tried, the worse he seemed to get.

"This is absolute bullshit," he finally snapped, spinning on his heel to face her. His face was like thunder, his eyes glowering. "This bow is broken."

"The bow is fine," Katniss assured him, swallowing back a laugh and stepping towards him. She tugged it out of his hands before he decided to throw it or break it in two. "You're just too stiff with it. Your shoulders need to be firm but you're holding onto the string just a little too long, like you're afraid of it."

"I'm not afraid of it," he snarled, and Katniss raised her eyebrow.

"One, you need to check your attitude right now, buddy. And two, you might not _think_ you are, but you are."

A muscle in his cheek twitched, and she could physically see the shift across his face as he tried to rein in his frustrations, before he finally sighed. "Alright. What can I do?"

Katniss showed him again, patiently, moving in close to position his stance a little better. She heard his sharp intake of breath when her chest pressed up against his shoulder blades, and for the first time she wondered if today was such a good idea.

Being this close to each other was reigniting a need too fast, too soon.

"Okay," he finally murmured once she had him in the right place. "Any other tips before I shoot this thing?"

Katniss hadn't told her instructor this, but she figured if it helped her, it might help Peeta.

"Well...it sometimes helps me if I imagine the target as someone who's been pissing me off," she admitted, stepping back, tapping his elbow into position again slightly as she did so. "Not that I'd want to literally shoot them with an arrow, but...it gives me something more to aim at, if that makes sense."

He turned his face to her slightly, his curiosity clear. "Then who do you imagine?"

Katniss shrugged. "It's not always the same person, and it might not be anyone I've seen recently. A couple of times it was you," she said matter of factly, and the corner of his mouth quirked. "Another time, my ex. Haymitch was annoying the shit out of me in the bakery one day, so he got to be my target. A guy who I dated in high school once got the honours, and another day I even shot Glimmer because she stole my jeans before I left Panem."

"Jeans?"

"They were good jeans that fit me well," she muttered defensively. "Anyway, maybe give that a try."

"Alright."

Neither said anything as Peeta lined his shot up, as he pulled the string taut. She held her breath as he let it fly.

It hit the blue ring.

He turned to her with the biggest, most ridiculous grin on his face. "Nailed it," he said triumphantly, and she laughed.

"Nice. Who'd you imagine?" she asked, then stopped, horrified, as a sudden realisation hit her. _What had she done?_ _How had she not considered that telling him to imagine someone as the target might mean he thought of Cass over and over-_

"The kitchen lady back in the city," Peeta announced, breaking through her thoughts. "She's driving me insane with her ridiculous demands."

Relief flooded through her, and another laugh escaped. "Okay then. Let's keep going."

An hour later, Peeta's aim slightly improved and both their arms limp like jelly from exertion, they packed up, heading towards the hire building. And her next comment fell from her lips before she even knew she was saying it.

"You know, you never did tell me exactly how you knew Glimmer."

Peeta started, almost dropping the bow. "What?"

She cringed, hadn't even realised it had been on her mind since she'd referenced her earlier. "Uh, months ago, when we found out we both knew Glimmer. You just told me a friend knew her. But it was Cass, wasn't it?"

Hitching the bow over his shoulder, he nodded slowly. "Yeah. They were sorority sisters. At least, until Glimmer got kicked out."

"You didn't know her well?"

"No. Mostly her name, a few stories C...I got told."

Katniss bit down on her lower lip. "You can say her name, you know," she said softly, and he nodded.

"I know. But I don't want to right now."

Murmuring her assent, they continued on towards the building, the look on her face growing thoughtful as she shifted her eyes across to him. "Well, I knew she was bullshitting about her age."

"Huh?"

She grinned. "Glimmer tried to tell me she was only 26 when we first met, but I'm guessing she was shaving quite a few years off her real age."

Peeta smiled back. "Somehow, from the little I _did_ know of her, that doesn't surprise me."

Katniss considered it a miracle, and a testament to just how far they'd come, that an - albeit brief - conversation about their past didn't leave a dark cloud or an awkwardness over them as they drove back to QMB. Instead they sat in a silence that was comfortable, the sounds of an old Taylor Swift song on the radio filling the car. She found herself humming along, the chorus inciting her to murmur the lyrics softly under her breath.

"I've missed that, you know," Peeta said quietly, and she lifted her head from where it was resting against the car window.

"Hmmm?"

"Your singing. Your voice. It was...it was one of my favourite things about working in the bakery."

Katniss blushed. "Oh."

"Don't let me stop you."

The look on his face made her heart beat just that little bit faster. "Now I'm self-conscious."

"Don't be."

She smiled slightly, and looked out the window. "Well now of course I have to be."

"Hardly."

But she didn't continue, the song quickly shifting into one she hadn't heard before, and the rest of the ride home was silent.

He pulled up at the curb, switching the ignition off as Katniss reached back to gather her backpack.

"Thanks for today," he started. "You're a good teacher. Patient."

"It was fun," she agreed, and he pulled a face.

"Well...for you being able to laugh at me, maybe. All it proved is that I'm not great at archery."

"Well we can't be good at everything," Katniss reminded him wryly. "You can draw a hell of a lot better than me, bake better than me and you threw those bags of flour around the bakery like they weighed nothing. Moving them wasn't exactly my favourite part of delivery day."

"And that explains why there was always so many for me to move when you signed off on the orders compared to when Finnick did."

"Guilty as charged," she admitted, clutching at the bag she now held on her lap. They stared at each other for a moment, the intensity in his eyes making the blue crystal clear and sharp. She cleared her throat. "Anyway, I'd better head in. Get changed and stuff before I head next door to Sae's."

He pushed a wayward lock of hair back from his forehead, and she saw his knee begin to bounce nervously. "Sure. I should get started on the bathroom anyway. The fixtures aren't going to replace themselves."

Nodding in reply, Katniss reached out and grasped the handle, started to open the door.

"Wait, Katniss..."

She half-turned to face him. "Ye-"

Her reply was cut off by Peeta's mouth covering hers hotly, his hands sliding into her hair, pulling her closer to him. His tongue ran across her upper lip, and her lips parted, enabling him to deepen the kiss. His taste was familiar but new, sharp and sweet, like she was discovering an old favourite all over again.

A slight moan fell from her lips as her hands reached out, clutching the front of his shirt tightly, cursing the console that separated them.

It was frantic, and needy; tongues tangling, mouths bruising, breaths panting against skin as they almost devoured each other in the front seat of Peeta's car.

And then they were forehead to forehead, eyes staring at each other as they fought to regain any sense of coherence and breathing.

"I've wanted to do that all day," Peeta murmured.

"Why did you wait so long?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "We're taking it slow, remember?"

"Right," she nodded, though right now, with the way her heart was thudding and her mind was cloudy, she really couldn't.

"You should go in," he reminded her.

"I should," she agreed, and reluctantly pulled away. "You, um, want to go for a run along the beach tomorrow morning before you go back to New York?"

Peeta nodded. "Sounds good."

"Okay. I'll, uh, meet you on the beach."

"Sure." He gently extracted his hands from her hair, leant back. "I'll see you then."

"See you then," she echoed, before stumbling out of the car, slamming the door behind her harder than she intended.

She didn't watch him go, didn't have a chance to. She was too busy blushing furiously when she saw Sae sitting on her front porch next door, knitting needles clacking away in her hands and a wide, knowing grin on her face.

* * *

"Peeta, it's good to see you. How have things been the last few weeks?"

Settling himself into the deep, comfortable cushions of the dark blue armchair in Dr Mark Aurelius' office, Peeta rested his hands on the armrest, his fingers curling over the edge. He'd missed his last few sessions, through a combination of work and visiting Katniss, and the familiar surrounds of an office that had once upon a time set him on edge now allowed him a sense of calm that he hadn't felt in a couple of days.

"Busy," he started.

"Oh?" Dr Aurelius crossed one leg over the other, pushed his glasses a little higher up on his nose.

"We've had a few problems on my major project. Nothing earth shattering, just a few people not meeting their obligations. It's led to some long, frustrating days."

"Are you sleeping well with it all? Is the stress causing some insomnia again?"

Peeta shrugged. It was clear the doctor could see the deep purple bags under his eyes as much as Peeta himself could every time he looked in a mirror. "The sleeping is as fine as it can be. I could always do with more, but who doesn't?"

Dr Aurelius smiled. "Tell me about your recent trips out of town then. You told me on the phone that you've visited Katniss a few times?"

He thought of their time at the archery field, the way he'd wanted to kiss her senseless all afternoon. The way he finally had in the car. The way he'd dreamt about her constantly afterwards, his body practically cursing him for giving it a taste and then taking it away again. "Yeah, I have."

"And how has that gone?"

Peeta took a moment before replying, choosing his words carefully. "It's...going well. We're taking things slow, going to see where things take us."

"So you broached the idea of beginning a relationship with her?"

He reached up, ran a hand along his jaw, and the three day growth that shaded it. "I told her that I wanted to try again. That I wanted to see if we could start over."

"And?"

"She turned me down."

Dr Aurelius smiled. "If you've visited her a few times and are taking it slow, Peeta, I hardly think that's the case."

"She turned me down at first," he clarified. "Or told me that we needed to talk about it more."

"She seems like a smart woman," the Dr commented, and Peeta nodded.

"She is. I don't think she gives herself enough credit. But she is. I told her that it was because of her that I decided to get my shit together."

Dr Aurelius was quiet for a moment. "We talked about that, about how resting something like that on her shoulders might feel like a burden," he replied softly. "How did she react?"

"She told me it was bullshit, to start with. But I explained to her that the reason was because I didn't want to miss out on something again. I think she understood then, and we agreed to date. Or whatever."

"When you say that you didn't want to miss out on something…" The doctor didn't finish his sentence, allowed Peeta to pick it up.

Peeta lifted his hands in supplication. "I'm almost 34, and I've finally realised I can't spend the rest of my life wallowing over Cass and potentially...missing out on a life with someone else. I told myself for a long time that I didn't want that anymore. And now-" he cut himself off, swallowed heavily. "Maybe now I do again."

"Maybe?"

Peeta ran his tongue across the front of his teeth. "You already know it's more than a maybe."

"I know," Dr Aurelius agreed. "It's just good for you to continue to admit it, to say it, to get _used_ to saying it. Don't you think?" It was. The more he said it, the more comfortable he felt with it. And the more comfortable he felt, the more confident he was about it - so he nodded his agreement, and the doctor smiled. "Good. But let's move onto other things. Tell me what else is happening at the moment."

Peeta thought over his work projects, the recent call he'd gotten from his mother to announce that his new niece had finally smiled at her, his Dad's pronouncement that he'd joined a chess club, the conversation he'd had with Katniss about their connection through Glimmer, the way he'd kissed her in the car - and then went with something completely different. He planted his tongue firmly in his cheek.

"I somehow voluntarily agreed to go to a one year old's birthday party this weekend."

The amusement on Dr Aurelius' sleepy face was clear.

* * *

Annie and Finnick had outdone themselves. Their small backyard was bedecked in decorations - balloons, streamers, fish cutouts hanging from tree branches, the tree house Finnick had had installed before Dylan had barely turned a month old turned into a pirate ship with the help of coloured cardboard and a fluttering bright blue sheet of material. Food stations were spread out across the yard, heaped with sweet and savoury party food, and a giant snakes and ladders mat took up pride of place in the centre of it all. It was a little cool outside at this time of year, but it was picture perfect otherwise, the sun shining brightly and the trees gold and red and yellow and exuding warmth.

Popping a handful of M&Ms from a bowl into her mouth, Katniss eyed the spread of food on the Odair's kitchen counter that had yet to make its way outside. "So how many people are coming to this, exactly?"

Placing another dirty prep plate inside the dishwasher, Annie straightened. "Um...maybe about 40?"

"You know Dylan doesn't have 40 friends, right? He's 1. He's friends with Mr Fishy," Katniss pointed out, referencing the overstuffed and drool covered fish that Dylan had taken to carrying everywhere with him - hence the party theme.

"Ha ha," Annie replied with a grin. "I know, it seems excessive. But when you take into account my Mom and step-father, and Finnick's parents and his grandmother, and the bakery crew and…" she trailed off, shrugged. "Okay, it's excessive. But Finnick got so excited, and he just kept wanting to invite everyone."

"Like Florence, and Delly's engagement party."

"Like Delly's engagement party," Annie confirmed. "But at least everyone coming has genuinely met Dylan before."

Picking up another handful of chocolate, Katniss tipped her head in Annie's direction in agreement. "Very true."

Turning back to the counter and grabbing another plate, Annie placed it in the dishwasher. "Is Peeta still coming?"

She fought to keep the smile from creeping up on her face. "Yeah, he'll be here. He had a skype call with his boss, so he'll be late. But he'll be here."

"Good," Annie replied. "Are you prepared for the inevitable onslaught of people saying how wonderful it is to see the two of you together?"

Katniss rolled her eyes. "We're not going to be hanging off each other, Annie. He's worked at the bakery - it makes sense for him to be here."

"You know people will be saying it anyway. Remember where you live."

"They're here for Dylan's birthday party, not me or Peeta."

Annie shrugged, closing the dishwasher door and turning it on. When she spoke, her voice was in a slightly tone-deaf sing song. "Well, I'll probably say _I told you so_ later!"

She threw an M&M in Annie's direction. "Oh shut up."

"Just be prepared," Annie replied with a grin.

* * *

"Katniss, _darling_ , you have no idea how excited we are!"

Katniss surveyed the already overfilled table in front of her, trying to determine where she could place yet another platter of '1' cupcakes. There was so much food, it was ridiculous - and she was certain most of it would end up being packed up and taken home by all the guests. There was definitely no way it would all get eaten this afternoon. Allowing her gaze to flit briefly to the woman beside her, Katniss raised her eyebrow in curiosity. "About what, Effie?"

The older woman clasped her hands in front of her, fluttering eyelashes that looked about a foot long. "About _Peeta_ of course! He's back, and I'm certain you couldn't be more excited yourself."

She gave credit to years of tending bar, and the steady hands she now had to have when shooting at the archery field, that prevented her from splattering the cupcakes all over Effie's highly-inappropriate-for-a-backyard-picnic-party six inch magenta stilettos. She turned her focus back to the table, shoving aside a heaping platter of cheese and meats, barely managing to slot the plate into the gap. Internally, she sighed. Annie's foresight had been spot on, as usual, and she'd been dumb enough to think that the focus would all be on Dylan. It had been ridiculous for her to have thought otherwise.

She wondered if she'd _ever_ get used to it.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't play coy with me, my dear," Effie said playfully, tapping her on the arm, before lowering her voice to a whisper. "Finnick was telling me _all about it_ yesterday in the bakery. It will be so wonderful to see the both of you together in town!"

Her head swung back around abruptly to face Effie. "Finnick what?"

Effie laughed gaily. "Uh-oh, looks like Mr Odair has been sharing a few secrets again!" She leant forward, pressing a kiss to Katniss' cheek. "No never mind him, my dear, he probably didn't mean a thing by it! We're just so _fond_ of you, that we love seeing you happy." Then she smiled brightly as her name was called out on the other side of the backyard. "Oh, Florence is here, I must catch up with her. I've not seen her all week, what with my being in LA! Bye, Katniss, we'll chat later!" She tottered away on her heels, their toothpick ends sinking into the grass as she made her way around clumps of gathered guests, while Katniss' head was spinning with such a hurried and frantic conversation. She made a quick getaway before she got cornered by anyone else, and headed straight to the drinks station where Finnick stood.

"Finnick, what the hell?" She blurted it out without a greeting, no preamble.

Finnick whirled from where he was pouring a lemonade and winced, sucking in a deep breath. "Uh-oh. What did I do? Did Annie tell you about the sex dream I had?"

"No - _what_?" Katniss blinked in confusion.

He shook his head quickly. "Uh, nothing. Never mind. What did I do?"

She shoved her hands in the pockets of her jeans. "You talked to Effie about Peeta and I!"

His brow furrowed in confusion. "No I didn't."

"Then why did she say it will be so nice to see us together, and that _you_ told her about it?"

He lifted an eyebrow wryly. "Um, I just told her Peeta was in town because he is - I didn't mention anything about you. And as for the rest - maybe she said it because it _will_ be nice to see you together. If she said anything, it was of her own volition, okay?"

"Ugh, why would you even bring him up to Effie of all people? I mean, you may as well have strung a sign up on Main Street proclaiming that the prodigal son had returned."

He laughed, and sipped at his drink, comfortable again with their conversation. "Because she was asking me when Annie and I were going to give Dylan a sibling. I was doing some serious deflecting, because that woman is relentless."

Katniss scowled. "Don't use me as your get out of jail free card, buddy."

He reached out and tugged on the end of her braid playfully. "Quit whining, Everdeen. You should know the drill by now - everybody knows everybody and everything. And everybody just wants to be happy for you. Now get out of here, and head over to the deck. Lover boy just showed up."

She rolled her eyes at that, but couldn't deny the little frisson of excitement that danced down her spine, the coil of need that tightened in her belly. She tossed a look over her shoulder, saw him standing in the middle of the deck, looking slightly bewildered but decidedly appealing in faded jeans and a deep green hoodie, before turning back to Finnick. "You're such an ass, Odair."

"And in my dream, you loved me for that."

"Ugh, you're so gross."

* * *

"Boy, you look like you've never been to a kid's birthday party before. You look terrified." Glancing beside him, Peeta found Haymitch standing there, hands in his pockets as he rocked back on his heels.

Scanning the crowded backyard - _was every person from town here?_ \- Peeta shrugged. "I've been to a couple, but they were only ever family," he replied, thinking of his nephew Elijah and Rue and Élodie, who technically weren't family by blood, but were the closest thing to it.

"Then why so scared?"

"Because...everyone is looking at me." And he wasn't exaggerating. From the moment he'd stepped out onto the deck, heads had swung to face him, eyes full of curiosity, surprise, excitement. He could see the looks that were being darted between himself and Katniss, and from where she stood on the other side of the yard with Finnick, he could see her eyes on him too.

But the look in hers was very, very different to everyone else's.

Haymitch chuckled. "Can you tell they've been starved for gossip for weeks? Possibly months? You being back is the most exciting thing that's happened since Darius got shitfaced on the Fourth of July and ended up passing out on the beach, buried up to his neck in sand."

"Exciting times in the Bay," Peeta drawled, and Haymitch nodded.

"Too true, kid. So suck it up." He yawned. "I'm gonna go get a drink. Your girl's headed this way, so I may as well keep Odair company. See if he's got anything...worthy to drink." Haymitch winked, a small grin on his face as he took the two steps down to the grass and headed for Finnick.

Peeta watched as Katniss walked past Haymitch, sticking her tongue out at a comment he made, before stepping onto the deck.

"Hey," she greeted.

"Hey. What did he say to you?"

"Something highly inappropriate in the vicinity of children," she muttered with a blush.

He grinned slightly. "It wouldn't be a regular day if Haymitch wasn't doing or saying something along those lines."

"He's a regular moral compass." She tucked her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, and he tried not to focus on the way the movement made her shirt cling to her chest. "The call with Cinna go okay?"

"It was fine," Peeta said simply. He wasn't sure if he was ready to tell her yet that the conversation had been about the majority of his project coming to an end, that after Christmas he'd be back in the Bay full time. Because being back full time meant that, regardless of what happened between now and then, it would possibly be some kind of turning point for them.

"Well, that's good," she smiled. Something over his shoulder caught her eye, and she grimaced. "Ugh, I'm sorry to leave you to your own defences, but I have to go help Annie with something. I'm certain Finnick has a drink over there with your name on it, though."

He nodded, turned in time to see her scurry into the kitchen, and prepared himself for a long afternoon of going solo.

But in the end, it wasn't so bad.

The few children who were there squealed and ran around, while clumps of people ate food and chatted. Annie carted Dylan about to practically every guest, while Finnick played the consummate host. Peeta sat in a plastic chair in the corner of the yard, Haymitch on one side of him, John Cartwright on the other, sipping on a plastic cup of Coke and vaguely listening to them as they talked football - or while John talked as Haymitch reluctantly responded appropriately. But they weren't really holding his attention.

It was Katniss, as she moved through the yard carrying trays of food, or picking up discarded half-eaten cupcakes from the ground, that had his complete focus. He couldn't take his eyes off her. The way a dozen flyaway hairs had escaped from her braid, the way her legs looked in the fitted jeans she wore, in the way she deftly moved around the packed backyard, never once bumping into anyone, her body fluid and somehow reminding him of more than a dozen nights they'd spent wrapped around each other naked.

And he knew _she_ knew he was watching her, the faint blush on her cheeks clear each time she looked in his direction.

It might have technically only been a month since they'd started seeing each other again, but their history was a lot longer than that. Their decision to take things slow and all had been a good thing, but it was killing him. He just wanted _her_ , wanted to take things to that next step. Wanted her more each time he spoke to her, saw her, interacted with her.

And now he was officially thinking things that he was pretty sure he should _never_ think about at a kid's birthday party.

"Kid, you'd better get that look off your face," Haymitch suddenly growled.

"What are you talking about?" He glanced around, saw that John had gone over to replenish his plate of food, and it was just him and Haymitch.

"Like you want to eat that girl alive. Just make a damn move already."

"We're taking things slow," Peeta bit out.

"Then save us all." Haymitch leant back in his chair, stretched his legs out. "Though I gotta say I knew it was only a matter of time before the two of you got your shit sorted again."

"Crediting yourself as matchmaker?"

Haymitch snorted. "Hardly. I've told you before and I'll tell you again - you both needed a good swift kick, you especially. So just don't pussy-foot around each other forever is all I'm saying."

Peeta couldn't help it - the laugh fell from his lips before he could stop it. "You really do have a way with words, old man."

Haymitch tipped his cup in his direction. "Thank you."

He took another sip of his own drink, diverting his attention back to Katniss over the rim of the cup.

* * *

He watched her all afternoon, and she was surprised to find it didn't bother her, didn't make her feel self-conscious. In fact, all it did was make her hyper-aware - of everything. It took all her strength to focus on the party and the task at hand, and not think about him, and her, and all the ways they'd been together. In all the ways she _wanted_ them to be together. And from the look on his face, she knew whatever she was feeling, he was feeling it too.

She also knew that they were both kidding themselves. She wanted him like she'd never wanted anyone before, and it was ridiculous to deny it - or themselves - any longer.

There was no going back now.

* * *

He'd been disappointed when she'd told him she had to stay behind and help clean up. He'd offered to help, but Annie had smiled and politely declined, telling him to head on home, that they were all okay.

So he'd gone home, sat in front of the TV, and debated with himself how long he was going to wait before he went to Katniss' house. Because he really couldn't take it any longer.

And then, almost as though he'd summoned her, she was knocking on his front door.

Peeta leant against the frame, his arms folded across his chest as he studied her. She'd changed - though she still wore the jeans, the shirt was long-sleeved and not covered in remnants of food, her braid smooth and perfect. And her hands were clenched tightly in front of her.

"You know, I was just trying to gather up the courage to go to your house," he started.

She blinked. "Oh?"

"I was thinking about how I can't do it anymore. Going slow is fine and all, but…" he shrugged. "Let's face it. I want you."

This time her cheeks coloured red, hiding the dashes of freckles that danced over them. "I know."

His eyebrow lifted. "You do, do you?"

She nodded. "I do. Because...because I want you too."

They stared at each other silently for a moment, and then he didn't give her a chance to say anything more, reaching out and yanking her against him, his arms banding around her waist tightly as he impatiently lowered his mouth to hers. The brief kiss they'd shared in the front seat of his car last weekend hadn't been nearly enough to satiate him, and he'd thought about this - her, them, together - virtually non-stop all week.

They stumbled inside, mouths still fused to each other, Katniss somehow managing to reach back to slam the door shut. The sound reverberated around them, and Peeta tore his mouth away, stared down at her.

"Is it really inappropriate that I was thinking about getting you naked all through a kid's birthday party?" He muttered.

She nodded, a little wildly. "Probably. Very likely." She took in a deep breath, her chest heaving against his. "But I don't even care. I've been thinking about it for weeks."

"Months."

"Months," she agreed.

His hands reached down, tugged on the bottom of her shirt before drawing it up and over her head, fixing his mouth to hers again as he tossed it over his shoulder. He couldn't get enough of her - the feeling of her bare skin under his hands, the press of her body against his as they fought to get closer to each other. His blood, every nerve ending, felt like it was on fire.

"Upstairs," he murmured against her mouth, his hands already eager to dip below the waistband of her jeans. "We should go upstairs."

"Down here is fine," she muttered breathlessly, her hips thrusting against his as her hands slid up and underneath his sweater. _Damn, this woman was going to be the death of him_.

"No," he said firmly, and pulled his body away from hers reluctantly, reaching down to curl his fingers through hers. He needed to do things right this time. "Let's go upstairs."

She nodded blankly at him, and he turned, guiding her up the stairs and down the hall towards his bedroom. He let out a soft breath and pushed the door open with his free hand, led her in until they both stood in front of each other at the foot of the bed. They didn't move, didn't say a word, the air between them pulsing with tension. But, in the brief walk upstairs, something had tempered, something had shifted. And this time when he finally closed the gap between them it was smooth, slow. Not rushed, not hurried.

He took his time as he undressed her, as he'd failed to do so many times before. Took his time mapping her bare skin with kisses the more he revealed of it - the curve of her shoulder, the inside of her elbow, the spot just above her hipbone. And the way her body shivered and jerked under each of his touches made him wish he'd done this a long time ago.

She reciprocated, torturing him in taking what felt like forever to free him of his clothes, a scrape of her nails across his bare chest, a clench of her hand around his arm, a brush of the end of her braid against his stomach. They kissed, long and slow and leisurely, bodies pressing against each other closer the deeper their kisses became.

And then, as though a switch had been flicked, the impatience and need that had initially fueled them took over again.

Katniss wrapped her arms around his neck, lifting up onto her toes as she tugged him down slightly, his body bowing over hers as they fell back on the bed. He shifted at the last moment, landing on his back with Katniss curved over the top of him. He tugged at the tie in her hair as she fixed her mouth to his neck, threaded his hands through the lengths until they surrounded them like a curtain.

They moved over each other, under each other, skin becoming slick with sweat as their kisses heated, as his hands palmed her breasts, as her thighs clenched around him as they rolled over the bed. He could feel her heart racing a million miles an hour, pressed his lips to the skin above it before moving down and capturing one of her hardened peaks in his mouth, her body tensing against his even more, his name falling like a moan from her lips.

He took her over the edge with his hands, and his mouth, her own hands tugging desperately at his hair in those final moments. And then, while her body was limp like jelly and as fluid as water, he reached out blindly, fumbled in the top drawer he'd stocked with the hope things would work out. Nipping it out of his fingers, she rose over him, her mouth covering his with a heated kiss before she rolled the latex down, as she took him inside of her.

She rocked against him, a pace that was familiar to them, one they both knew would drive them hurtling to the end. More finesse, and time, would come later. Right now, they just wanted each other. Needed each other.

He felt in build in the base of his spine, his stomach and groin tensing in a way that he knew he wasn't far away. And their eyes were open and staring, breaths panting, groans and sighs mingling as, one after the other, they finished.

* * *

After, with their bodies cooling, Katniss' head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around her, he lazily ran his fingers up and down her arm. Her breathing was calm and even, and for a moment he thought she'd drifted off to sleep until her toes dragged across his calf.

"So the project is almost done," he murmured, and he felt her foot pause.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"So that means…"

"I'll be back to working remotely again, will just travel down to the city whenever they need me."

He felt a breath he hadn't known she'd been holding blow across his chest. "And you'll be staying here? You'll be back in the Bay?"

"I'll be staying here," he confirmed, and her cheek shifted against him, the way he knew it did when she smiled.

So he smiled too.

* * *

_Hey Duck._

_I know, I've been really slack lately, and I'm sorry. But, if it's any consolation, I've been busy. Doing things. Having a life._

_Isn't that strange?_

_It was Dylan's birthday last month - he's one already, and I can't believe it. I still remember the day Finnick went running out of the bakery, his face as white as a sheet, practically tripping over his own feet. Even thinking of it now makes me laugh._

_I knew he and Annie would make great parents. Seeing them with Dylan is just...well, they remind me of when we were kids with Mom and Dad. How they'd shower you with kisses whenever you came home with a glowing report card._

_Which was often, you smart ass._

_They had a party for him, though as a one year old, I don't imagine he'll remember it. All he was really interested in was the wrapping paper and a piece of cake he smeared across his face. But it was nice for Annie and Finnick to celebrate - they loved it, and so did half the town, because that's pretty much who they invited._

_And - surprise - Peeta was there._

_He came back a couple of months ago, told me he wanted to try and see if things could work between us - actually see each other, and not pretend that we were just in it for some kind of kicks. So we've been dating. Doing activities on the weekends, when he visits from New York. Talking a lot on the phone, emailing when he's back there. He's not going to be back in the Bay full time until next year, not until his project is done in February - but that's probably a good thing. While we've taken a step forward in deciding to be together, it gives us those times to be alone when we need it. You, of all people, know there are times when I need to hide away, and he needs the same. The past, good or bad, never goes away._

_But we're getting better. And when he's here, we spend a lot of time at his house. It feels different to before. It feels comfortable. It feels right._

_It feels real._

* * *

**8 months later**

She was running late. And she _really_ didn't want to be late tonight.

She should have known the minute she'd woken up and realised she hadn't set her alarm and was already ten minutes late for work that it was going to be one of _those_ days. Should have known it wasn't going to get any better when the steamer on the coffee machine decided not to work, and she couldn't get a technician to come in until next Monday to fix it. When the youngest of the Mitchell boys decided to smoosh his custard-filled doughnut into the face of his older brother, turning the shopfront into World War III. When Annie, hit with a morning sickness that carried on way into the afternoon and that they were all trying to keep on the down low from prying ears and eyes, had to head home early and there was an hour of her struggling on her own in the Friday afternoon rush before Finnick could arrive to help her close.

In short, if Katniss could have named the Day Most Likely to Go to Hell and the one she Least Likely Wanted to Go to Hell, both were today. But it at least kept her mind off of everything else, though. Kept her stomach from filling up with the nerves that had threatened to drive her into a panic the night before when she'd been certain she didn't have a single thing in her wardrobe worthy of tonight.

Switching the ignition off, she leapt out of the car, snatching the brown paper bag and backpack off the passenger seat at the last moment before she slammed the door closed after her. She raced up the front path, unlocking the door and pushing it open simultaneously with her hip.

"I'm here!" she called out, as she hurried down the hallway into the kitchen. He was already there, his arms covered in flour up to his elbows, annoyance clear on his face. "Uh oh. What's wrong?"

"I burnt the damned cheese buns, didn't I," Peeta growled, and Katniss snickered. It was actually kind of funny how nervous they both were, considering he'd known his family his entire life and she'd at least kind-of met them, in the modern day tradition of Skype. But this wasn't just a 5 minute video call. This was a dinner with his family - _all_ of his family. His parents, his brothers, their wives, their children. "Now I have to start all over again. _Shit_."

Circumventing the counter, she reached up on tiptoes to press a kiss on his decidedly tense cheek. "Peeta, it's okay," she reassured him. "They're your family - they'll love whatever you cook no matter what."

"Ethen will bitch about whatever I've baked, Aaran will rag on me about how I need to re-stain the deck outside and my mom will likely alternate between giving you the third degree and trying to wipe the corner of my mouth with her napkin, wondering where I learned to eat."

"Sounds like every other family gathering I've ever heard about in my life," she said smoothly, dumping the backpack on the floor and moving to take the apple pie out of the brown paper bag to store it in Peeta's fridge. Hoping to distract him from his own woes, she launched into her own day. "Anyway, sorry I was late. The bakery was as busy as all hell, anything that could have gone wrong _did_ go wrong, Annie got hit with morning sickness again, and then I had to go past my place to pick up my clothes to change into because I forgot them this morning."

His hands already deep in dough again, Peeta turned briefly to look at her over his shoulder. "You know you could solve that last issue if you just left some clothes here. Or, you know. All of them."

She kept her head in the fridge as she pretended to contemplate the chilling bottle of white wine and the 6-pack of ciders on the top shelf. It had been a tentative topic of conversation since they'd visited New York for Cinna's birthday a month ago, a casual remark by Portia that had inadvertently planted the seed. She'd been hesitant at first, and had continued to be, knowing that the last time she'd moved in with someone it had been rushed, and had ended badly. And she'd also been conscious of Peeta, knowing how he'd lived on his own for so long now, knowing why he'd had to.

But who was she kidding? She was just delaying the inevitable. It was pretty clear that this was the next step that they could - and should - take. Because they both knew they were definitely better together.

She straightened and turned back to face him. "Alright."

He stilled, slowly spinning around. The surprise was clear on his face. "What? Really? Yeah?"

"Yeah." The smile slowly spread across her face. "Why not? We should give your brother and his living-in-sin girlfriend a run for their money with your mom's disapproval."

The corner of Peeta's mouth quirked up. "Sounds like a good idea to me."

She crossed to him again, swiped her finger along his forearm to gather some flour to dust across his cheek. "Well, good luck with making your new batch, Soon To Be Roomie. I'm going to have a shower."

"That's not fair to put images like that in my head," he groaned.

"Too bad," she called out, scooping up her backpack, and heading down the hallway.

Katniss ran her hand along the bannister as she made her way upstairs, a smile on her face and a warmth in her belly at the promise of a future with Peeta. They'd taken big and little steps forward over the last few months, had had to help each other when times were rough and memories got dredged up that threatened to drag them down again. But taking the step of agreeing to move in together felt _right_ \- and she knew, now that they'd finally done that, telling him she was in love with him would be next.

They'd both hinted at it for a couple of months now, the words always seeming to be on the tip of their tongues, barely able to be stopped, but something invisible always holding them back. His past, her past, their worries, their fears, recognising that it was such a powerful and courageous thing to say - who knew?

All she _did_ know was that she meant it. And the idea of loving someone - of being _in love_ \- with someone was both exhilarating and terrifying and everything she'd seen embodied in her parents. She wanted that with Peeta. And even though he hadn't said it, she knew he wanted it too.

Tonight, she'd finally tell him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost can't believe this is it! Done. Dusted. My arms are heavy as I write this, and part of me feels lost that it's done. But it is.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, for kudos and bookmarks over the years. Every single one of them has meant so much to me, and helped me to keep going when I was struggling for words or time.
> 
> I didn't expect DBGB to become what it did, and I'll always be very honoured and grateful that so many people read it, welcomed it, were enthusiastic about it. It's a story that means a lot to me, and not just because of the Everlark that I loved to write, but the other characters who helped to shape their story. I hope you enjoyed spending some time in Quarter Mile Bay as much as I did.
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts, either here, or on tumblr, where you can also find me under sponsormusings. :)


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